Each Day a Gift
by SilverPen001
Summary: Dean missed Sam's birthday as a demon, so plans an entire year of gifts for his brother in effort to make it up to him. Set season 10 but with liberties on the specific timeline.
1. June

**A quick something for y'all to enjoy. This is going to be a story of sorts. It more of a compilation of one-shots that all have to do with the same thing. Technically, they all take place inside a year, but I'm way to lazy/excited to publish these over a year on the corresponding dates.**

 **The basic plot is that Dean missed Sam's birthday as a demon, and to make it up to him, begins planning an entire year of gifts, one for each month, to show Sam how much he loves him in his own way. The only thing I own is the plot; the characters and show are all Kripke's.**

 **Takes place season 10, but I took a lot of liberties timeline wise. Enjoy!**

* * *

It was late May when Dean realized exactly what day it was. He remembered the day- or rather, the date- Metatron killed him: April 30th. He was gone for three weeks as a demon. A few days after waking up it hit him. It was May 28th. But more importantly, it was May when it had been April. And it was _late_ May. And that means that Dean missed his baby brother's birthday. And not just missed it, but actively walked out on Sam's birthday. If he died late April 30th, then Sam must have gotten him home early May 1st. And after factoring in a day of grief, and then summoning Crowley, then discovering his older brother's disappearance, Dean could guess that Sam had spent his 31st birthday in a fruitless, frantic, panicked search for his demon brother.

And if that didn't make Dean's day just _spectacular_. Ever since Sam was a baby, Dean had made a point to spend the kid's birthday with him, especially since more often than not Dad was passed out drunk, off on a hunt or banging some dame from the bar of the week. Even when the Sam was at Stanford, Dean swung by with a card and small gift, as well as cash if he could swing it. In fact, Dean was pretty proud that in his baby brother's 31 years of life, he had been big brotherless on his birthday only twice. Well, thrice, now.

As soon as Dean realized the date, he began making plans to make it up to his brother. But how could one possibly go about trying to make it up to their saintly, selfless baby brother, who's life you ruined arguably as far back as Stanford? The more he thought about it, the more Dean realized that he had a lot- a _lot_ \- to make up to Sam. One "heya-Sammy-sorry-I-got-killed-and-turned-into-a-demon-then-ditched-your-ass-for-Crowley's-by-proxy-missing-your-birthday-we-good-now" present wasn't going to swing it. Not this time. Not with how bad Dean feels; how badly he wants to get them back on track for the first time since Metaron, Leviathans, friggin' _Satan_ and Ruby. Since _Sammy, let me go_ and _No, Dean, I wouldn't. Same circumstances, I wouldn't_. No, this apology, this _gratitude_ , called for something much grander. It would call for lots of little demonstrations of love, Sammy always responded better to constant affirmation than one slap on the back forget about it praising. With resignation, Dean accepted the inevitability of a chick flick moment to beat 'em all at the end, but he thought this time he may not mind as much.

So Dean began scheming. Within 24 hours, the plan was in motion.

* * *

It was June 2 and the Winchesters were pulling into the bunker's garage at 10:47 AM, a lot more tired and dirty than they had left it at 6:30 the previous morning. The pair had found a hunt 9 hours out in a marshy part of east Texas by Louisiana. A vengeful spirit was kidnapping people from the outskirts of the marsh and then drowning them in the mud. Eager for an outing, Dean had convinced Sam that the hunt would be simple and routine, nothing to provoke the Mark. Sam, secretly going stir crazy himself, agreed. However, as they unfolded themselves from the Impala, Sam was cursing his brother's manipulative name. As they were digging up the remains, the ghost appeared suddenly and snatched Sam, throwing him into the marsh. A steady, strong pressure stopped him from rising, and slowly the mud began over taking him. In a panic, he called desperately for his older brother, swallowing a mouthful of gross muck. Soon after, there was a muffled scream (his ears were clogged) and the pressure lifted from his chest. Almost immediately, Dean was there, lifting Sam from the mud with a loud squelch, and a breathlessly relieved quip about playing in the mud. Too exhausted to snark back, Sam allowed Dean to help him rinse his face and hair, but when Dean suggested finding a motel, Sam protested. "Dean, it's one in the morning. We're muddy, and tired, and only 9 hours from the bunker. If we just leave now, we'll be back by 10ish and we can shower and sleep in our own beds. Please?" Now, though, Sam wished he could go back in time and shoot himself for suggesting that course of action. The brothers trudged up the stairs to their rooms and showers. Dean mumbled something about sleeping for a week as he passed his brother and Sam agreed wholeheartedly. They separated in the hallway and as Sam entered his room to snatch a fresh set of clothes, he paused, shocked at what awaited him on his bed.

Propped up against his pillow were two large bottles- one of shampoo and the other of conditioner. Sam blinked.

They were still there.

Sam approached his bed cautiously, and picked up one of the bottles. It was… nice. And by nice, he meant expensive. It was a name brand, something he almost never bought for himself because of the price and the teasing he would have to endure from his brother. It was also scented- another thing he typically avoided due to teasing. (The bottle said coconut and kiwi. Sam took an experimental whiff and sighed with pleasure.) And finally, the kicker, came the label. Underneath the fancy brand name title, next to the fruit displaying the scent, in bold lettering were the words **FOR THICK, DRY HAIR**. Sam's hand came up involuntarily to touch his own hair, which, sure enough, was both thick and dry. Sam stared at the bottle for another moment then glanced at the other one. His eyebrows raised even more to discover that they were a matching set.

Suddenly spotting a folded note next to the bottle on the bed, Sam picked up the paper and read it.

 _Sammy- Now don't go getting all emotional on me, little brother. This is purely selfish. See, when I suggested this hunt, I knew that either one or both of us would be getting dirty. (I'm not totally stupid, Sam.) And given our track record, I knew that it would probably be you. (Don't give me that face, Sam. It's a known fact that you're slower than me.) So to spare me having to hear all about how horrible I am for dragging you out of your precious library and getting your perfect hair all dirty, I took the liberty of buying you some of the good stuff to tide over any complaints._

 _A ground rule, Sammy- it's for bad days and dirty hunts only. If you treat it like every day shampoo, then on days when you really need that pick-me-up salon job, it won't be as special. So use it, don't abuse it. That girly-ass stuff is expensive. (And NO. I didn't Nair your stupid, girly hair care stuff, Sam. We're better than that now, bitch.) -Dean_

Sam smiled fondly at the note and his brother before gathering his things and eagerly getting in under the hot spray. 20 minutes later, Sam finally exited, hair clean and soft. Sam smiled as he dried his hair to slightly damp and padded down the hall to his brother's room. Opening the door, fully intending to thank his brother, Sam stopped. Dean lay passed out on his soft bed, in sweatpants and shirtless, snoring gently. Sam grinned fondly at his big brother and turned off the lights before exiting the room quietly.

The next morning, when Sam came downstairs, it was to find a boisterous older brother happily mixing up omelets in the kitchen. When Sam sat at the table, Dean turned around to set a coffee in front of him. Taking his order for omelets, Dean ruffled Sam's hair before returning his attention to the stove. As his brother's fingers slid easily through soft, healthy hair, Sam was reminded of the present. Clearing his throat, Sam said, "Dean?" When his brother turned around expectantly, Sam put on his most sincere expression. "Thanks." Dean rolled his eyes and turned away, changing the subject, but Sam caught the bright smile Dean tried to hide. He hid his own behind his mug as Dean returned to the table toting two omelets. He listened contentedly to his brother- alive, human, and HERE- ramble on about his cooking prowess and thought to himself, _Best present ever_.


	2. July

**Sorry, I feel like this story just wasn't flowing for the longest time. I meant to have it up sooner, but that didn't really work out. Hopefully though, the next chapter will be smoother. Please excuse plot holes in the hunt. It wasn't the focus of the story, so I didn't do much to it in depth.**

 **I don't own the boys or Supernatural. Any resemblance to people, places and things is completely coincidental and not the intention of the author. Enjoy and please R &R!**

 **Also, I'm going to try and update Mondays, but if that doesn't happen it will be very close to it. I've been sick lately so I have a lot to catch up on in the real world, but I'll be doing my best!**

* * *

It was approaching July; and Dean knew for a fact that Sam had used his precious, girly hair stuff only once since that first night. He knew because Sam never complained about his big brother ruffling his shaggy locks after using it. He smiled to himself as he pulled from his pocket a short list on crumpled paper. Glancing at it, Dean quickly found the line marked July and read it quickly. Smiling with pride, Dean grabbed his brother's laptop and powered it up. This one would take some research.

* * *

Sam looked at his brother with measured skepticism. "A hunt." Dean nodded, stuffing his hands in his pockets with a smile. "In Nebraska." Dean's smiled became a little more forced as he nodded again. "A hunt in Nebraska, a state that is notoriously empty of _anything_ , the state that we've been to the _least_ on supernatural related business, Kansas aside. _That_ state has a hunt?"

Dean flushed, now scowling. "Yes, Sam. It has a hunt. It's a simple salt'n'burn. Even _Nebraska_ has vengeful spirits, asshole. But whatever. Just forget about." Dean slapped the laptop closed, and turned away.

Sam sighed. "Dean. I just, I don't know if any hunt right now is good for us. What with… um…" Sam gestured at his brother's arm, where the tip of the Mark could be seen. Dean pulled down his sleeve, coughing awkwardly. The brothers sank into an awkward silence.

"How many times are we gonna have this conversation, Sammy?" Dean asked softly. Sam didn't look up. "I appreciate your concern, Sam, honest I do. But…" Dean sighed, sinking down into the chair across from Sam. He pulled a weary hand over his face. "I gotta be _normal_. OUR normal. I'm going crazy, here Sammy." Dean met Sam's eyes and asked, "Please?"

Sam huffed, looking away. "Alright."

Dean smiled again. "Awesome! Pack your stuff. Let's blow this place!" Dean clapped Sam on the back and left the room. Sam let out a put upon sigh and rose from the table.

* * *

The pair arrived in Lincoln at six. Sam booked them a room while Dean grabbed dinner. When he returned to the room, they settled in for research.

Three hours and twice as much coffee later, they were no closer to finding where the body was. They had the spirit's name, life story, former address and social security number. But no burial place. "I can't believe this," Dean muttered. "You would think that the news would have covered where she was buried. I mean," Dean pulled up the news story and read aloud. "'Veronica Swannson, age 25, wife of local business owner Jared Swannson and beloved head of the Kickstart Child Home and Charity was found dead in her home August 27th, 2010 by the maid Marisa Day at 11:45 AM. As of now, the killer remains unknown and a full scale police investigation is underway. Condolences are extended to Jared and the Swannson family in this difficult time. As of now, Mrs. Swannson's funeral is scheduled for August 31st for close friends and family members only.'" Dean looked up in exasperation. "But it doesn't say where! I mean, I get that it's private and all but, come on? A public figure like that and you don't at least say 'Mrs. Swannson will be buried in Lincoln Cemetery for all who wish to pay their respects after 3 PM?'"

Sam nodded. "And they caught the guy that did it, and he's still in jail for another 5 years at least. So not only are we down a body, but we're down a motive, too. Like, what's making her spirit reappear after four years, Dean? Are we even sure this is our thing?"

"Yes," Dean snapped. "The maid died at the house via chandelier, and before that, two different repairmen had 'accidents' there within the same year. Doesn't that scream spirit to you?" Dean rubbed his eyes. "Alright. Alright. Let's take a break, catch some z's and go talk to the hubby in the morning, see what we can see."

Sam wearily agreed.

* * *

The next morning, they went to see Jared Swannson. As they turned onto the private drive, Dean mused aloud, "Dude- twenty-five. Such a shame for her to go so young. I mean, the twentys' are the prime of your life, Sammy. I can remember being twenty-five. Drinking beer. Hunting with Dad or Caleb. Banging hot girls. Living the life." Dean parked the car. "Good times." He turned to his brother. "What about you, Sammy? Remember being twenty-five?"

"Yup." Sam met his brother's eyes squarely. "You died. I buried you. Went on a suicidal bender, hooked up with Ruby and got off on demon blood. Then you came back and we barely spoke for a year. Good times." Sam opened the door and left the Impala, pulling out his badge. Dean caught up with him.

"Sorry," he murmured as Sam knocked.

Sam simply shrugged, coughing to clear his throat of the thickness that suddenly clogged it. "Whatever, man. Old news."

Dean was about to refute that point when the door opened, revealing a very harried-looking Jared Swannson. The widower looked back and forth between them, hands struggling with the buttons on his shirt. "Can I help you? Or better yet, can you come back later? I don't really have time to talk, I'm kind of in a hurry."

In unison, the brothers flashed their badges. "Agents Jackson and Hill, FBI," Dean said, gruffly. "We suggest you make time." Shoving past the surprised man, Dean let Sam take the brunt of the questioning, instead turning his thoughts to Sam's earlier words. Guilt surged through him all over again at the thought of what his brother had endured as a consequence of his big brother's selfish actions. Resolve flooded through him once again to make this the right for his brother; to replace the bad birthday memories with good ones. The time was almost upon them for the revealing of Sam's July gift. They just needed to gank this ghost tonight and then on their way out of town tomorrow, Dean could spring the surprise on his baby brother.

Dean couldn't wait to see his face.

* * *

The 'agents' left the Swannson house with not only a body location, but also with a motive. "So, hubby's got himself a fiancée, now. Guess that'd do it," Dean mused.

Sam agreed. "She saw it as a threat to him, I guess, having another woman in his life. Those other men must have reminded her of her killer and Jared said he had been about to fire the maid for stealing."

Dean snorted and got in the Impala, cranking the engine. "Well, killing is never the answer, Sammy. Remember that."

Sam looked over at his brother in amusement. "Really, Dean? Coming from you that seems a little hypocritical, considering killing is the answer to most of our problems."

Dean did his best imitation of a bitchface. " _Fine_. Then how's this: Killing is never the answer. Unless it's a monster or a ghost or a demon or an angel or a Leviathan or Bela Talbot, cause God knows we shoulda ganked that bitch back after she shot you." Dean headed for their motel to wait for dark.

"Amen," Sam murmured, rubbing his shoulder with a wince at the phantom pain.

Dean glanced over at him. "Dude, it was the other shoulder."

"What? No, it wasn't!"

"Yes, it was!"

"Dean, I think I remember where _I_ was shot and freakin' _bleeding out_ better than you, okay? I lived it."

"You little drama queen, you were not bleeding out. It was a shoulder shot. And you may have lived it, but _I_ dug it out of your shoulder, remember?"

"Yeah, I do, because you made the pain ten times worse! AND MORE MEMORABLE!"

"Stop being such a wuss, Samantha. Man up."

"You know what, Dean? Screw you."

* * *

The ghost hunt actually went off without a hitch for once. Poor Mrs. Swannson appeared once toward the end, but was up in flames before she had the chance to do more than just lift Dean out of the grave, which he was climbing out of anyway. The whole thing was over by three in the morning on July 2nd. Sam and Dean, full of that mixture of adrenalin and exhaustion, agreed to go back to the motel and sleep for the day and then drive home the next evening.

When Sam woke up around 3:30 that afternoon, it was to Dean's singing and haphazard packing. "Up and at 'em, Sammy!" Dean shouted joyfully. "Let's get going! I heard about this great diner in a town two and half hours from here that makes a cherry-blueberry pie in honor of Independence Day! We have to try it!" Sam groaned but complied with his brother's cheery demands. He wasn't really tired. He was actually pretty rested, but he couldn't let Dean know. He had a little brother reputation to uphold.

Two and a half hours later, Sam found himself seated in another two-bit diner that had been one of the few stationary fixtures in his chaotic childhood, a garden salad that was surprisingly delicious three-fourths finished in front of him. Across from him, Dean had finished his own heart attack burger and was halfway through his own order of Independence Pie- a whole pie- and was devouring each bite with moans that could only be described as orgasmic. Sam was caught somewhere between amusement and revolted embarrassment. As Dean took another huge bite of his cherry-blueberry-whipped-cream heaven and let out a loud, long "ummmMMMMMHHHhhhhaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh", displaying his half chewed food to the whole diner, Sam decided that he was definitely more embarrassed than amused now. "DEAN," he hissed, cheeks flushing as people turned to see where the noise was coming from. "Stop that!" Dean ignored him and moaned again, louder and longer. Sam attempted to sink down in his booth, wishing the ground would open up and swallow either himself or his brother. "Dean!"

"Now, sugar, don't go getting embarrassed by your brother too badly, he's just playing with you," the motherly waitress said, coming up to them. She smiled kindly at Sam before turning to Dean. "And you. Boy, shut your mouth when you're eating. Ain't anybody taught you anything?" Sam beamed at Dean's chastised expression. The waitress took their card and brought it back, along with a whole second Independence Pie for Dean to take home. Smiling when he thanked her profusely and asked for the recipe, she pointed him to the counter. "Tell 'em Marley sent ya. They'll give it to ya." When Dean was out of earshot, Marley turned to Sam with a smile. "I have never seen anyone who loved that pie the way your brother did."

Sam grinned. "Yeah, he loves the stuff. Pie is his favorite thing."

"I don't know," Marley said, starting to clear the table. "He must like you a damn lot to be hanging out with you at this age." Spotting Sam's confused look, she elaborated. "You don't see many brothers getting together the way y'all do and being so easy about it, even just for an evening meal together. Sisters, sure; I got a group of girls who get together every Sunday and talk for hours in that booth yonder. But not many brothers. You're real lucky son." Marley picked up her full tray and walked away with a wave. Sam was shaken out of his musings by a calloused hand on his shoulder.

"Ready to go, geek boy?" Smiling up at his brother, Sam nodded.

* * *

Sam dosed for a while in the car. When he woke up, the first thing he noticed was that they'd stopped moving. The second thing he noticed was a distinct lack of brother in the car. Panic over look him, and Sam scrambled out of the Impala. "Dean!"

"Woah, easy tiger!" Strong hands caught him as he tripped out of the old black car. Sam immediately recognized his big brother's touch.

"Dean," he sighed in relief. As his brother steadied him, Sam gripped Dean's arms firmly. "Don't do that again," he said seriously. He met Dean's eyes head on, ensuring the sparkling green understood. "I mean it." Dean just nodded. Sam released him. "Where are we anyway?"

"Open field," Dean said helpfully.

"Gee, thanks," Sam rolled his eyes. "Why are we here?"

Dean lead his brother away from the car. "I figured that since we can't really set off fireworks at the Bunker- secure location and all- we might as well set them off here and now." Sam gaped at the immense expanse of fireworks before him. All different sizes and colors and shapes, a hundred of them.

"Wow," was all Sam could say.

"I know," Dean agreed. "What'd'ya say, little brother? One at a time or all at once?" He offered the lighter.

Sam took it and lit them all in one go. "RUN!" He laughed, tugging his brother back to the Impala. They made it just in time for the first firework to shoot off and explode in a burst of green. Dean offered him an open beer as the second and third exploded. In happy silence they watched as the fireworks painted the sky with their colors. Dean leaned over to Sam. "Happy early Fourth, Sammy." Sam smiled and murmured the same. Returning his attention to the sky, Sam caught his brother's relaxed smile out of the corner of his eye as the sky lit up once more. _Best present ever_ , Sam thought, leaning against his brother's side.


	3. August

**Here it is, as promised, Monday. Sorry it's a little late in the day. First chance to post. All usual disclaimers. R &R please!**

* * *

You may not know this about Kansas, but it gets hot in the summer. The brothers hid away from this fact most of the summer, camping out in their nice, cool Bunker, leaving only for necessary food and beer runs. (Dean did most of those. He was now as particular about his kitchen as he was about his car.) However, near the end of July, a hunt in northeast Kansas finally pulled Sam from his cool, bibliophilic sanctuary. He moaned as the heat hit him despite the cool air in the Impala.

"And the AC won't go any higher?" Sam whined petulantly, not caring if his brother thought he was reverting to his five-year-old self.

Dean gave him an amused sideways glance. "Sorry, Sammy. My baby is many things, but young is not one of them. She needs TLC, and part of that is not blasting the air so much these days. So suffer in silence, little brother. It's not as bad as that summer in Georgia."

Sam shuddered at the memory. "Dude- never again."

"You always were intolerant of heat." Dean snorted. "Wuss."

Sam glared at his brother, perfectly composed and without a single tell-tale shine of sweat on his face. Sam sighed and turned to gaze wistfully out the window, wishing not for the first time he was more like Dean. Probably because Dean had brought it up, Sam's thought turned to that memorable summer in Georgia when he was 11...

* * *

 _Sam was in a bad mood. He had been for a good three weeks now. And he wanted all the world to know it. And by "world", he meant his dad._

 _The man had ONCE AGAIN picked them up with no warning and moved them from the sweet town in New England where he had had friends and good teachers and a volunteering job at a veterinary clinic on Wednesdays and Saturdays while his 15-year-old brother worked at the diner across the street. But here- here Sam had no friends, school wasn't in session, and no dogs to play with to keep him from missing his friends. On top of that, instead of the furnished apartment they had been renting in Vermont, here, in stupid Georgia, they were living in a crappy motel room with a central cooling system that only worked on days that didn't end in a y. And to make matters worse, dad had only stuck around for a few days before once again leaving them to fend for themselves, with only the parting words "Salt the exits, stay safe, take care of Sammy." Sam felt his blood pressure rise just thinking about it._

 _But that wasn't even what made him the angriest. See, Sam could deal with the faux homesickness, and the heat, and the crappy motel, and the glaring absent father if he had Dean to distract him. But big brother was too busy "working" at the diner two streets away. He said he was bussing tables and doing dishes but Sam knew he was just flirting with girls and taking every opportunity to avoid Sam. So now, instead of enjoying his summer vacation and the unobstructed attention of his big brother, Sam was on lock down in a hot, humid motel room, alone with his thoughts and loneliness. It seemed to the pre-teen as if his exile would last forever. He wasn't even sure what he'd done to make Dean hate him so much that his normally doting big brother didn't even want to hang out in the motel room. Sam was so convinced his brother hated him, retreating in on himself in sulky silence._

 _He woke up one Thursday morning feeling unusually gross and sweaty. Sam felt hot, too warm in his own skin, and he ached for a cool bath or pool. In the room around him, he could hear Dean up and moving around._ Probably ready to leave me again _, Sam thought sullenly._

 _Dean for his part heard Sam stir in bed and let out a low moan. Dean paused his preparations for work to listen to his little brother. Sam had been treating Dean a little colder than usual the_

 _past few weeks. Dean knew it was because he'd been so busy. He felt bad about it, but he needed this job to help pay for food and the room. There was also this cute girl- Emmalee- who worked at the ice cream shop across the way, who came by the diner every day to get lemonade. Dean was making real progress in talking her up, but it required him to leave early every day. However, as Dean heard his brother give another soft groan, he considered calling in today. "Sammy?" he questioned, moving closer to his brother's bed. Upon closer inspection, Dean could see that his brother was flushed and sweaty. His concern spiked. "Are you ok, buddy?"_

 _It took all of Sam's self-control not to throw himself into his big brother's arms and sob out how hard it was being in this crummy motel room all day by himself without Dean, and how he felt too hot and sick, and to beg his brother to please, please don't leave today, De, PLEASE! But instead, Sam summoned his anger and hurt and huffed out, "Yeah, 'm fine."_

 _But Dean was not to be swayed. "Are you sure? I can call in today if you don't feel well, Sammy."_

 _"I said I'm fine, Dean! Go away!" Sam shouted at his brother._

 _"Fine!" Dean snapped back. He grabbed his wallet, shoving it in his pocket. "I'll call in a few hours to see how you're doing. Don't go anywhere."_

 _"I never do!" Sam fired back as Dean slammed the motel door. Immediately, he collapsed backwards onto the bed, tears stinging his eyes. He felt so much worse, so hot and uncomfortable. "Come back, De," he whispered._

 _Dean tried to be angry as he stalked his way to the diner and got ready for his shift, but worry over his little brother was slowly taking over. He was distracted all morning, messing up a few orders here and there as he tried to mentally diagnose what could be ailing Sam. When Emmalee waltzed in at 11:30 right on schedule, ready to finally win over the sexy busboy, she found him behind the counter, lost in thought, brow scrunched in worry. "Heya, sugar," she drawled easily, attempting to get his attention._

 _Dean hardly spared her a glance. "Oh, hey, Emmalee." He quickly fixed her a lemonade and slid it to her._

 _Emmalee looked hard at him. "Is something the matter, sugar?"_

 _Dean looked at her sharply, green eyes hard and hostile. "What makes you say that?"_

 _She smiled wryly. "Well, for one, this is the first time you've failed to stick an umbrella in my lemonade." Dean flushed a little and sheepishly plucked up a pink drink umbrella to drop in the Southern belle's drink. Emmalee smiled. "Better." She took a sip. "So what's up?"_

 _Dean sighed. "It's my little brother. He didn't look so swell this morning, and we had a fight. Our dad's working all day, so he's alone right now and I'm just worried a little that's all. I think he might have a fever, but I don't know. It didn't look quite right."_

 _Emmalee listened as Dean explained his brother's condition, easily sipping her drink. When Dean was done, she took one last drink and then met Dean's eyes seriously. "It sounds to me like your brother's got himself some heat sickness. Get him into a cool bath, give him lots of cold fluids and keep him hydrated and cool, otherwise it could turn into heat stroke, and that's no fun for anybody."_

 _Dean's eyes widened in horror. "Will he be ok?"_

 _Emmalee nodded. "Just do what I said and he should be fine. It may be hard for him to keep down fluids, but just keep at it." Emmalee stood up and swung her purse to her shoulder, dropping a tip on the counter. "And when he feels stronger, bring him 'round to the parlor. A cool treat's on me."_

 _Dean gazed at her gratefully. "Thanks. I'll do that."_

 _Emmalee slid up next to Dean, pressing her chest to his. Stretching up on her toes, she whispered in his ear, "It's a date, then." Leaving him speechless at the counter, Emmalee rushed out, cheeks flushed._

 _Dean watched her leave, stunned, before running to find his manager and begging the rest of the week off. Then he ran back to the motel to find Sam passed out in a pile of sweat-soaked sheets. "SAMMY!"_

 _Sam woke up feeling gloriously cool. A cold cloth was wiping down his face and he sighed happily._

 _"That's it, Sammy," came his brother's soft voice from above him. "Wake up."_

 _Sam obliged his brother. "Dean? What happened?"_

 _"Heat sickness, Sammy. All the humidity just got to you, and you passed out. We're gonna keep you cool and hydrated for a few days, but you should be fine." Dean looked away, shame clear in his face. "I'm really sorry you got sick, Sammy. I shoulda been watching you and making sure you stayed cool."_

 _Sam reached out for his brother's hand. "It's ok, Dean. I shouldn't expect you to want to spend time with me all the time."_

 _Dean looked at his brother, shocked. "You think I've been avoiding you?"_

 _Sam nodded. "You mean you haven't been?"_

 _"Gosh, Sammy, NO! Never!" Dean sighed. "Look, we can hash this all out over the next few days. I've got them off from work. We'll go to the pool, eat popsicles, and when you're strong enough, I've got a friend who works at an ice cream parlor who's willing to hook us up with a free cone or two, sound good."  
Sam looked at his brother hopefully. "So you're gonna spend all day with me?" Dean nodded, smiling at his brother's enthusiasm. "Awesome!"_

 _The next few days were spent as promised, the brothers lounging around the pool, drinking lemonade and downing popsicles like no tomorrow. Finally, on Sunday, Sam said he felt strong enough to walk to the parlor and meet Dean's friend. Together, they walked the two blocks to the little parlor. Sam hid behind Dean as they walked into the blessed chill. Dean gave Sam a reassuring smile, before calling out to the girl behind the counter. "Heya, sugar!"_

 _A pretty blonde girl in a pink dress, looked up in surprise. When she spotted Dean, she beamed. "Well, looky here! If it ain't the coolest thing since ice cream! How are you, Dean?"_

 _Dean smiled. "Well, thanks. Does the offer still stand for a frozen treat for a sick baby brother?" he asked gesturing to where Sam clung shyly to his side. The blonde looked at him with a wide smile._

 _"It sure does. Take a seat, I'll bring it out. You like chocolate…?"_

 _"Sam," Dean supplied as Sam nodded. "This is my kid brother, Sam. Sammy, this is Emmalee. Don't worry, she won't bite you." As they sat down at a table for three, Sam directly beside Dean, Emmalee brought out two bowls of what looked like thick ice cream._

 _"Okay, Sam," she said, stopping by the table. "You ever had gelato?" Sam looked at her wide eyed and shook his head. Emmalee smiled. "I thought so. Well, it's like ice cream, but it's thicker, and a little less sweet. I think you'll like it. Your's is regular chocolate," she set it in front of him, "but Dean's is cherry pie. Do you think he'll like it?" she whispered conspiratorially._

 _Sam giggled and nodded. "He loves pie."_

 _Emmalee sat down on the other side of Dean. "I thought so. Enjoy!"_

 _And Sam did. He sat and happily ate his gelato, oblivious to the flirting between his brother and Emmalee. He had just discovered one of his favorite foods._

* * *

Sam turned to his brother on their way back to the Bunker after the hunt. "I was just thinking-"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Call out the cavalry."

Sam glared. "Very funny. I was just thinking about Georgia."

Dean glanced at him. "Oh yeah? What about it?"

"I was thinking about how when I was really sick, you took me out for gelato with that Emmalee chick, remember that?"

Dean grinned at his brother. "Oh yeah. I remember Emmalee. I dated her for a while when we were there." Dean gave his brother an evil grin. "Lost my virginity to her that summer, too."

Sam moaned, covering his ears. "Ew! Dean, gross! I didn't need that information!"

Dean just laughed. "Why were you thinking about that, Sammy?"

Sam struggled to push the mental images of brother sex out of his mind. "Well, I was just thinking how I haven't had gelato in a long time. It'd be nice to have it again, you know?"

Dean smiled and agreed.

* * *

Two days later, Dean dragged Sam away from his precious library again.

"Come on, Dean, really? It's too hot!"

"Quit your whining, Samantha! Man up!"

"At least tell me where we're going!"

"No can do, Sammy. It'll ruin the surprise."

Sam huffed, but got in the Impala anyway. He watched the roads, looking for some clue of where they were going, but his brother was much more familiar with the town layout than he was. All he knew the locations of were the bars, the library, the store and the hospital. Finally, they pulled up in front of a little shop. Sam blinked, reading the name, then scrambled out of the car after his brother. "Dean?"

Dean hushed him and motioned for him to sit down. Sam did and watched as his brother went up and ordered something, paid and waited. After a minute, the server handed back two bowls of-

Sam's eyes widened. _No way_ , he thought. "Dean," Sam started, shocked. "Is that- is this-?"

Dean smirked. "Two gelatos, coming right up!" He set down the bowls with a flourish- chocolate for Sam, cherry pie for Dean.

Sam gazed at the treat in delight. "Dean, this is- I mean, it's just- Thanks," he said sincerely.

Dean just rolled his eyes. "Shut up and eat your gelato, Sammy. Hey, look at guy over there! Maybe we should tell him to pull his pants up."

Sam sat in the sunset with his brother outside the gelato shop, happily eating his treat. As he listened to his brother rant and discuss whatever he was thinking of, he thought to himself, _Best present ever_.


	4. September

**Sorry this is a week late! I started a new job last week and it kept me from writing. Hopefully I'll get the nest one done by next Monday, but I make no promises. But if not next week than in two weeks I swear.**

 **Disclaimers: I don't own Supernatural or Arrow. Sadly. But I do wish Stephen Amell would guest star on Supernatural once. Not as Oliver Queen, obviously, but as some cool side character who befriends Sam. Sam needs friends who aren't imaginary or his big brother's, you know? I also don't own Microsoft, nor am I making money on this story or propaganda. (Though I do own a Surface and it is NICE.)**

* * *

Loud swearing filled the bunker. Dean shot up in bed, heart racing as he attempted to pinpoint the noise and it's cause in order to find and ease his brother's distress. Abandoning his memory foam, dean's mind raced. He would have woken up if something had crashed and broken, right? So Sam must be swearing for some non-hurt reason. Still, Dean's big brother radar wouldn't drop out of the "EMERGENCY RED" zone until he made sure. "Sammy?" He called stepping into the hallway.

"I'm fine," came the terse reply. Dean rolled his eyes as the screaming internal alarm lowered to a "Slightly Concerned but Mostly Pissed Yellow" as he gauged his brother's tone. He continued down the hallway to the room his brother spent more time in than his actual room- the library.

"What happened?" Dean questioned, voice neutral, entering the library and taking in the sight before him.

Sam sat in front of his laptop, a pissed and dejected look on his face. He glared at the screen. "My laptop is frozen."

"It wasn't me," was Dean's immediate response.

Sam tossed Dean an annoyed look. "I KNOW it wasn't you, Dean. It froze while I was working with it." He punched a few keys. "Piece of crap froze up as I was converting this journal into the online database I'm making. Now I'll have lost all my work. Twenty-five pages, Dean!" Sam looked up at Dean with sad eyes, a bright sheen of tears beginning to glimmer in the hazel depths. "I'll have to start all over."

Dean didn't think Sam was aware of the mental message he was conveying to his big brother; the pleading "fix it, Dee" he could read as clearly as if Sam was voicing the words in his tearful 3-year-old voice. Unable to resist the subconscious called, Dean made a sympathetic noise in his throat. "That's rough, man. Let's see if we can get it thawed, then." He reached for the old computer, but Sam pulled it back warily. Reading and understanding the look on his brother's face, Dean scowled in mock annoyance. "Dude, I know I've frozen this thing a few times, but I'll let you in on a secret, I've unfrozen it a lot more than you've ever caught me."

Sam scowled , but reluctantly slid the laptop over. Dean rubbed his hands together and ran through all of his tricks in "Saving Your Ass from A Homicidal Sam: So You Froze the Laptop?" Finally, just as Dean himself was beginning to give up, the laptop unfroze. Dean gave a cry of victory and hit save. Sam sighed in relief. "Thanks, Dean."

"No thanks needed, Sammy." Dean schooled his face to look serious and turned his face tog axe dramatically to the left. "It was the right thing to do."

Sam snorted and snatched his laptop from Dean's dangerous fingers. "Sure, Dean. Whatever lets you sleep at night." He turned his attention to the tome in front of him again. "Hey, now that you're up, can you make some of those pancakes for breakfast again?"

"What am I, your maid?" Dean snarked, already in motion.

"In every way but the uniform."

"Shut up, Sam. I could rock that skirt with my ass and you know you want it."

"I so did not need that mental image."

"In your dreams, Sammy."

"More like nightmares!" Sam hollered after his big brother. Dean smirked to himself as he began making the pancake batter. He loved being back in a place where he and Sam could banter like they used too. It was one of the things he'd missed the most after... When they were estranged. As he thought about his relationship with Sam, Dean's thoughts turned to his Gift Scheme. Sam still raved about the gelato surprise, and Dean was proud that his genius little brother had yet to catch on to the fact that all the surprises took place on the second of each month. September was fast approaching and although his initial thought was for the present to be a collection of the seasons of Arrow, Dean was now thinking about something else entirely. Something much, much better. Dean grabbed his phone and dialed the familiar number.

"'Sup, bitches?"

"Charlie," Dean smiled. "Hey, can you do a quick, top secret favor for me?"

* * *

To say Sam was freaking out would be an understatement. A MASSIVE understatement. He was closer to nuking the bunker, starting World War III and having a heart attack from anxiety than he was to being merely "freaked out".

"Dean!" Sam shouted, panic in his voice.

There was a loud thump and then a curse from Dean's room. Sam was too deep in the throats of panic to muster up guilt for startling his brother out of bed so early the day. Besides, it gave him what he wanted: his big brother's undivided attention and "gotta-fix-it-for-Sammy" attitude. Almost on cue, Sam heard Dean's voice, thick with sleep and laced with a bit of panic. "Sammy? What's wrong? Who's dead?"

Sam took a moment to mourn the fact that that was a legitimate query for his brother in their lives. But soon his thoughts returned to his immediate plight. "My laptop," he whimpered.

Dean paused in his advance toward his brother. "Your laptop," he repeated. Sam nodded. "So, you woke me up, in a panic, at 7:30 in the morning, to tell me your laptop died?" Dean sounded incredulous.

"Not dead, Dean. Missing," Sam moaned. He resumed his search in his brother's room. "You didn't take it, did you?" His tone was slightly accusing as he peered behind his brother for the elusive laptop. Dean rolled his eyes.

"Dude, no. I wouldn't take your sloppy seconds."

Sam glared at him. "Haha. But seriously, have you seen it? It has all my work for the Men of Letters database on it, and notes and research. And it's the only good computer around this place because, in case you haven't noticed, all the others here are from the 1940s! So will you please help me look for it?" Sam pleaded with his eyes.

Dean heaved a put upon sigh. "Fine."

Sam beamed.

They scoured every inch of their home, looking the most unorthodox places at Sam insistence, for over four hours. With each passing hour, Dean watched with much concern and sympathy as Sam slowly became more and more desperate. Finally, as Dean's stomach demanded lunch for the fifth time in an hour, Dean called his brother's name and placed a firm hand on his brother's neck. "Time to call it quits, little brother." As Sam began to protest, Dean forced Sam to meet his eyes, heart softening as he looked into the dewy eyes. "Sammy, we've checked every inch of this bunker for over four hours now. If anything, it's time to walk away, and get some grub. The laptop didn't walk away of its own free will and no one broke in to steal it. Where ever it is, it's staying there until we get food, some rest and can approach this with new eyes and clear thoughts, okay?"

Sam shoulders slumped. "Okay."

Dean threw his arm around Sam for a quick hug. "Don't worry, little brother. We'll find it." Sam nodded a little forlorn and followed his brother out of the bunker.

* * *

They didn't find it that day, or the next. Sam was sulking in the living room, depression leaking from his every pore. Dean watched him worriedly. He made to speak several times, but each time he changed his mind before he could utter a sound. Sam glared at him every now and then for good measure. Finally, Dean just sighed and left the room.

Sam frowned, slightly hurt that big brother wasn't sticking out his little brother's distress at his side. But he dismissed those thoughts in favor of mourning the loss of such a faithful companion. He'd had that laptop ever since Frank had destroyed the one he'd had since Stanford at most. It had been old and in need of replacing, sure, but Sam would have preferred to do it on his terms in his own time. Like with this one. _But at least then I had my work saved and transferable._ Sam glowered.

Dean stayed away for the next couple of hours. Sam tried hard not to let his brother's prolonged absence affect his brooding and sulking, but worry still seeped through the cracks, pushing out everything else. Dean still had the Mark, after all, and Sam was still recovering from walking into his big brother's room to find his body gone a mere 5 hours after he had laid it there, lifeless. He still wasn't sure which was worse; looking at his big brother's corpse or having no body there at all and no clue where it was.

Sam forced himself to sit on the couch in his dejected position for another hour. But after 36 minutes of straining to hear evidence of his brother in the bunker, Sam's anxiety got the better of him and he surged off the couch. "Dean?" he called, attempting to come off as nonchalant.

There was no reply.

Sam's anxiety was notched up another level. "Dean!" he called again. He ran to the kitchen. Empty. Weapons room. Empty. Firing range. Empty. Garage. Empty. Of Dean and the Impala. Panic was fully fledged in Sam now. He ran back inside to grab his phone, ready to make an angry phone call first to his big brother and then several others if Dean didn't answer. However, before Sam could dial, he noticed a slip of paper on top of his phone. Recognizing Dean's handwriting, Sam snatched it eagerly. It said only one word: _Bedroom_. Sam could have slapped himself. Why didn't he check Dean's room? Idiot. Sam bounded up the stairs toward Dean's precious room. When he knocked without a response, Sam cautiously nudged the door open.

Empty.

Sam cursed, then spotted another paper on Dean's pillow. Reading it, Sam snorted against his will. _YOUR room, dumbass._ Sam walked down the hall and opened his door.

On his pillow was a gift wrapped box. An envelope lay on top of it. Curious, Sam sat down on his mattress and opened the envelope which simply read, _Sam- stepped out to hit up the store. If you're reading this, you've finally gotten off the couch and moved on with your life. That's good, Sam, I'm real proud of you. She was a fickle mistress, little brother, and you deserve better._

Smiling, Sam unwrapped the present…

…and felt his jaw drop in shock and pleased surprise. In his hands was a new laptop. Specifically, a Microsoft Surface. Sam gently ran his fingers across the box. He knew the stats on this beauty. Ultraportable, PC and tablet modes, 2.4 GHz processor speed, 8 GB RAM, 256 GB of data storage, and HD graphics. As he gazed in awe at the computer before him, Sam's attention was caught by another envelope, this time addressed to _Sammy_. Sam swallowed thickly and opened it.

 _And this is better, right? I don't really know. It SEEMS better, and I had Charlie pick it out, so if it's actually awful, we can just blame her. But I think it's going to be really good. Full disclosure, Sammy, I stole your old laptop to give to Charlie so she could transfer over all your notes and things. I honestly didn't think it'd take so long or that you'd miss that piece of crap so much. I'm sorry it stressed you out. I just thought you deserved something nice and new for a change. On the plus side, it's all set for you. (At least, Charlie says it is.) So fire it up kiddo. And don't make a moment of it, okay? -Dean_

Sam blinked tears from his eyes and opened the box reverently. For two more happy hours, Sam lost himself in the exploration of the new electronic device. It was only when Sam's stomach decided to alert him to the fact that he was hungry and there were delicious aromas wafting up from the direction of the kitchen that Sam realized his brother was home.

Suddenly eager to show off his new toy and express gratitude to his awesome big brother, Sam rocketed off the bed and down the hall, the Surface pressed to his chest. He burst into the kitchen brimming with excitement. "Dean!" he shouted happily. He ran to the kitchen table. "Lookit, lookit, lookit!" Sam set down the laptop gently and began to show his older brother all the cool things he had discovered. Dean patiently listened and watched when required, smiling softly. Dinner was set on the table and ready to be served by the time Sam finally ran out of breath and things to say. Dean handed him a loaded plate.

"Thanks," Sam said, meaning more than just for the food.

Dean smiled. "Welcome. Now shut up and eat your rabbit food, freak. Don't forget some meat, either. You're too tall to be that thin."

Sam listened to his brother's loving admonitions, still beaming. His eyes drifted to the new computer once again. A slight crease appeared in his forehead. This was the fourth time in as many months that he had been given a surprise by his brother. Something had to be going on. Sam turned to question his brother, but decided it could wait. After all, it was a nice night, and Dean tended to get defensive over implications that he wasn't a heartless badass, and Sam wasn't upset at all. It was a good surprise. A great present.

 _Yeah,_ Sam thought, listening to Dean's rant about overpriced organic foods and the lengths he went to to feed his little brother. _Best present ever._


	5. October

**Sorry this so late AGAIN! The world was conspiring against me in this chapter. I couldn't seem to find time! It's been planned out forever but the actual writing took some dedication. Please expect the next chapter in two weeks tops!**

 **Disclaimers: I don't own Supernatural, nor do I make any profit from this story.**

 **Enjoy and R &R!**

* * *

Sam watched his brother carefully for a few days, trying to catch him in the act of gift-getting or -giving. However, all his efforts were in vain. Dean did nothing out of the ordinary for a week and a half after the laptop surprise. He did smile every time Sam opened the laptop with a happy sigh, although it may just have been a smirk at Sam's awed and reverent expression and handling of the tablet. Sam ignored his brother. If Dean could treat a car with respect, love and admiration, then Sam could treat the sexy laptop tablet the same way. (Okay, maybe not the same way. To date, Sam has yet to name his prized possession or talk to it.) But despite the lack of unusual activity, Sam kept a weather eye on his big brother, determined to discover the cause of the random gifts.

But his vigilance was cut short when a series of cases and more importantly, in Sam's eyes at least, leads on the Mark forced them to abandon their safe house and venture back into the world of cheap motels and overpriced diabetes.

Sam had never appreciated having a bed of his own so much as when they stopped at their 3rd motel in as many weeks. Standing in the doorway with his duffel on his shoulder, Sam watched as Dean tossed his own bag onto the bed closest to the door and heaved a weary sigh before following his brother's example and shucking off his own bag into the farthest bed. Dean have him a strange look, but stayed silent.

Sam's mood continued to sour as they ran into dead end after dead end in their case. By the time they called it a day and headed back to the motel to change for research and dinner, Sam was nearly fuming. He stalked out to the Impala, leaving Dean to bid an apologetic excuse and farewell to the traumatized witness before rushing after his brother. "Dude, what's wrong with you today- DUDE!" Dean glared at his brother. "I don't know what crawled up your ass and died this morning, but do NOT take it out on the car!"

Sam forced himself to relax and take deep breaths. "Sorry," he murmured eventually.

Dean nodded in acceptance. "All good, little brother." A reassuring hand fell on his neck, giving a light but firm squeeze. "Look, Sammy- we'll figure it out, okay? No case to hard, no monster to big. Saving people, hunting things, right? Now let's go back to the motel, you fire up your new girlfriend and I'll grab us some grub, alright?"

Sam willed his emotions back into their box, and nodded.

* * *

Sam had never missed a home cooked meal as much as he didn't when his dreadfully cheerful older brother dropped a greasy Biggerson's bag onto the table in front of him. "Eat up, Sammy!"

Sam gazed in disgust at the processed and overpriced heart attack of a burger his brother was digging out of the bag. A drop of grease splashed onto the table as Dean unwrapped his second mistress, and Sam could barely hold in his retch. Still gagging slightly, Sam decided that before writing today off as a total bust, he would at least see what Dean got him.

A pathetic, wilted, processed Grilled Chicken Caesar Salad. Dean must have seen Sam's slightly revolted expression, because he chided, "It's the best they had in town, little brother, I swear. And I won't allow you to go hungry, so," Dean jabbed his finger at the thing. "Eat."

Sam heaved another great sigh, but opened the salad (if it could even be called that after all those preservatives). He wasn't an idiot and he wasn't blind. Sam knew about Dean's countless hungry days and nights, striving to keep his younger brother fed and happy despite having to ration food more often than not. He wished he'd known or noticed sooner, but hindsight is 20/20, so they say. So despite Sam's frequent grumbling about the quality of his brother's choice foods, Sam never begrudged his brother's nearly constant need to have food on him at all times.

Sam just wished Dean would stop shoving these nasty salads down his throat.

Gritting his teeth, determined to suffer through dinner in silence, Sam reached for a fork but was distracted by the buzz of his vibrating phone. Sam snatched it up and quickly read the text message from Cas.

 _Sorry, Sam, but the Rochester lead was a bust. It was the last on the list you gave me, and I'm heading back towards you and Dean in the morning. I think I'm going to lay-over in DC to check the Library of Congress, see if they have anything. I'll let you know what I find. -Cas_

It was irrational, the tears Sam felt gather behind his eyelids. He had known going in that the list of possible leads on the Mark he'd given Cas was small, with even smaller chances of success, but he'd somehow still been hopeful, even in the face of Cas's gentle warnings and his own common sense. Now that hope was brutally ripped from him, and Sam was devastated. The youngest Winchester slid the phone back into his pocket, and attempted to eat the salad, but only managed to glare at it.

"What'd that salad ever do to you?" Deans voice was mild. Sam shrugged, still glaring. Dean sighed and pointed to the salad. "Eat, Sammy."

"No."

"What?"

"I said, no, Dean."

"Well, why not, Sam? Hhm?"

"Because I said so, dammit. I'm over thirty, don't tell me what to do!"

Dean looked at him, surprised by the outburst. "What's wrong, Sammy?"

"Don't 'Sammy' me, Dean!"

"Alright then, _Sam_ , what's wrong?"

"Nothing!" Sam exploded, waving his hands round. "Everything! _Some_ thing! I don't know!" Sam sucked in a shaky breath. "This hunt is practically a bust, we have no leads- for this case _or_ the Mark- and I hate this motel! I miss my bed and my library and-" Sam shoved the wilted Biggerson's salad aside-"I miss the good food!" Sam flopped on to his bed, trying valiantly not to cry like a little girl.

Dean was silent for a good while, finishing his burger. Dean got ready for bed and then climbed between the sheets. Reaching for the lamp, Dean paused for a moment. "I'll make you a deal, Sam," Dean said quietly. "When we finished this case, we'll go straight home and you can sleep for real, research for real, and when you wake up, I'll find you, and make you the best dinner ever. Deal?"

Sam sniffled slightly, embarrassed by his outburst, but grateful for his brother's understanding. "Deal."

Dean hummed sleepily. "It'll be okay, Sammy. Whatever it is, we'll figure it out." Sam could tell Dean was almost asleep, which is why he was surprised when Dean shared his last bit of insight. "Mark included."

Blinking back tears of gratitude for his big brother's ability to soothe his soul, Sam nodded. "Yeah," he whispered to the sleeping room. "Okay."

* * *

True to Dean's prediction, Sam and Dean ID'd their monster the very next day, and after another day of planning, ganked it. They stayed three days in that third motel- their shortest stay in any that month. True to his word, Dean packed them up and checked out after sleeping off the hunt, heading straight for the bunker, not even giving Sam the chance to pretend to look for another hunt.

Not that Sam was complaining. He was looking forward to his bed and library.

And, if he was honest, a home-cooked meal from his brother.

Dean's proclivity for cooking was something Sam was just discovering about his brother, and not at all complaining about. Dean, for some reason, was an outstanding chef. Sam had been skeptical at first, when presented with the burgers during the Trials, but Dean had once again surprised Sam with his talent. Since Sam's vocal approval, Dean had been branching out, trying all sorts of foods, some of which Sam wasn't aware Dean even knew what it was. (Dean had surprised Sam around Christmas during the Trails with a delicious crème brulee.) Sam knew that Dean enjoyed cooking, and was as particular about the kitchen as he was about the Impala. It was rare that Dean enjoyed something so much, and it seemed to calm him down on bad days with the Mark, so Sam sat back and enjoyed the meals his brother experimented with.

Sam was excited to see what Dean planned on making him.

However, Dean didn't make dinner as soon as they got back to the bunker. Which Sam was alright with, after a pang of disappointment. After all, Dean needed rest, too. So Sam waited.

And waited.

And waited still.

Dean was preparing something, that much he knew, but the subject of Sam's promised dinner was taboo whenever Sam attempted to broach the topic. So Sam waited.

Nearly a week after The Promise, Sam woke to find the bunker empty. In the library, he found a note from Dean, detailing how he ran to the store to grab somethings, he'll be back late, don't come looking. Sam snorted, and began working on the Great Library Transfer. He was immersed in a tome from the early eighteenth century about a tulpa rampage in Mexico (probably New Mexico, actually, based on the coordinates) when a delicious aroma caught his attention. His stomach decided to remind him at that moment that he hadn't eaten anything yet that day. Curiosity and hunger propelled him to the kitchen.

"Dean?"

"Sammy! Don't come in! If you're hungry, grab an apple from the bowl I left you just outside."

"What? Why? What are you doing?" Sam tried to see into the kitchen but Dean was suddenly there, effectively cutting him off.

Dean gave a disarming smile. "Making supper. It's a surprise. Now eat an apple or two, but no more, got it? Supper'll be out in two hours."

Sam pouted, but Dean just laughed and shoo'd him out. Sam reluctantly snagged two apples on his way back to the table in the library. His concentration was toast after that. He spent the next hour and forty minutes guessing the smells wafting towards him and trying to convince his stomach that he wasn't really hungry anyway, so please stopped snarling like that!

Just when he was about to cave and demand that Dean feed him _now_ , Sam heard his big brother's voice. "Soup's on, Sammy!" Sam never ran so fast in his life, shooting up from the table and sprinting down the hall. He skid to a screeching halt before his brother. Dean arched an eyebrow in amusement. "Wow. Desperate much?"

Sam glared at him. "It was torture. Anything smelling that good and kept from starving little brothers for that long should be illegal."

"Aw, shucks, Sammy," Dean grinned. "It'll be worth it, I hope. It was for me to see you nearly faceplant into the wall at that turn there, bro. I've never seen anyone move that fast."

"Shut up and feed me, jerk."

"Bitch. Come on, then." Dean lead Sam into the kitchen. "Welcome to Venice!" the oldest Winchester announced with a flourish of his arm. Sam's jaw dropped.

The table was covered in all kinds of Italian foods; meatballs, spaghetti, garlic bread, minestrone soup, even a lasagna. Sam's mouth was watering. But what really mad him stop and stare was the huge bowl of salad in the center of the table. It was clearly hand-tossed and made fresh, with different kinds of lettuce and toppings with in it. Dean noticed the focus of his little brother's attention and smiled. "I thought you'd like it. Now sit down, and I'll tell you all about the kinds of food." As Sam took his seat, Dean went to the counter and grabbed two large bowls. "We start with the salad course. I have to warn you, Sammy, don't eat too much, 'cause there's a lot more coming and you can always have seconds later or tomorrow." Dean began filling the two bowls. "Sam, I gotta be honest, even _I_ want to eat this salad. It's one of my better inventions. It's got a mixture of iceberg, Roman, and red lettuce, with a little cabbage and spinach leaves tossed in, too. Also mixed in there are cherry tomatoes, red onion, garlic croutons, and just hear me out- apple, cranberries and grape pieces. I found a recipe for a raspberry vinaigrette I'm trying out, so tell me how you like it. And finally, we top it with almond to create the Dean Winchester masterpiece- the Sammy Salad." Dean plopped the bowl in front of Sam.

Sam's mouth was literally watering. "Can I-?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Yes, Sam."

Sam needed no further invitation and happily attacked the dish. He froze, a moan escaping his mouth. "Dean. This is amazing. Oh my-"

"Don't talk with your mouth full, Sammy," Dean admonished with a smile. He settled down to eat his own (smaller salad). "Eat up, there's four more courses." Sam hummed happily around a mouthful of salad.

True to his word, Dean talked Sam through each of the other four courses- soup, appetizer, main course and dessert. Sam devoured all of it with words of praise for his brother's talents. Finally, Sam sat back, defeated. "I'm stuffed." Dean smirked. "I'm serious, Dean. I can't eat another bite!"

"Not even of the Sammy Salad?" Dean asked, still smirking.

Sam frowned sadly. "Not even of the Sammy Salad."

Dean shrugged. "Guess that means I'll toss it out with the rest."

Surging forward, Sam shouted "No!" and made a grab for the salad. Dean pulled it out of reach, full-on grinning now. Sam could see he'd been played, and he scowled at his brother. "Haha. Very funny. So we can keep it as leftovers, right?" He couldn't mask the nerves behind the words, and Dean smiled back softly.

"It'll keep, little brother. Waiting right here for you and lunch tomorrow."

Sam smiled. "Good." A yawn escaped him, taking him by surprise. He suddenly felt exhausted.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Okay, Sasquatch- bedtime."

Sam summoned up the energy to bitchface at his brother before getting up and heading to bed. "What about dishes?"

Dean waved him off. "They'll be here for you to do tomorrow." But Dean was already clearing everything away. Sam watched his brother for another moment, total adoration clear in his eyes.

"Thanks," came the soft murmur from the door to the kitchen.

"Bedtime, Sammy," was the loving and firm reply.

 _Best present ever_ , was the familiar thought.

* * *

 **Author's Note: Fun fact, but the brief mentioning of food anxiety in this chapter is based on reality. I've never been so unfortunate as to be denied food to the point of starvation, but a friend of my mother's was a victim of child torture and as a result of her being starved for most of her childhood, she always carries food with her and constantly ensures that her own children are eating. Seeing as how Dean gave up food for Sam, and how money was tight for them, it's always made sense for me to think Dean is always a little insecure about where his next meal is coming from, and that since he's in charge of himself now, he eats when he feels like it to prove that he can. I'm thinking of expanding on that train of thought in a different fanfic story; any thoughts?**


	6. November

**So, so, SO sorry this is like, 3 weeks late! I've been majorly stressed out over school stuff, so I'm sorry. Expect the next chapter in two weeks too. I have finals and stuff. I'll be working on it though!**

 **Disclaimers: I don't own SPN, the boys or Rubik's cube. If I did, I'd be rich and I ain't.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

Dean was planning something- something big. Sam didn't know what it was or why, but he knew his big brother, and everything about Dean's actions for the past week screamed "I'm planning something and I don't want Sam to know!"

Well, too bad, Dean. Little brother has his own radar for all things Big Brother. It may not be as reliable, but it worked.

Already on the look out for more surprise gifts, Sam did what he did best- sit back and observe his big brother.

* * *

Dean could tell Sam was getting suspicious.

He couldn't say he was surprised. He had honestly expected his genius of a little brother to catch on earlier, but had held on to the hope that he wouldn't figure it out for a while yet. But Dean was no slouch in the brains department himself, and he could tell that if he wanted to keep his game a secret, he needed to provide a distraction for Sam- fast.

The distraction presented itself in the form of an impulse buy. Dean had discovered an indoor basketball course the other day, and, upon discovering that there were no usable basketballs ANYWHERE in the bunker, immediately set out to grocery shop and pick up a basketball or two. As he was browsing the isles for good basketballs, a brightly colored display caught his eye. Dean stopped and stared. The longer he gawked, the faster he thought, quickly incorporating this into his plan. A sly and delighted grin lit Dean's face.

This was the perfect thing to distract Sam as Dean made his final preparations for November 2nd.

* * *

Dean clunked loudly into the bunker's kitchen. "Sammy! Get your Sasquatch rear in gear and help unload the food!"

Sam tromped into the kitchen a minute or so later. "What?"

Dean nodded towards the bags on the table. "That has the basketballs. Take 'em to the court. Whoa, whoa- take the binding off them first." Dean handed Sam some scissors.

Sam sighed, then began to open up the basketball case. Dean turned back to the food, hiding a smile and counting down in his head. _And 3...2...1..._

"Dean?"

 _Still got it._ "Yeah, Sammy?"

"What the hell is this?"

Dean turned as if to see what Sam was talking about, fighting hard to keep the grin off his face. It was only when he saw for certain what his brother was holding that he allowed himself to beam excitedly. "Dude! It's a Rubik's Cube!"

Sam looked at his brother in disbelief. "Dean, this isn't a Rubik's Cube."

"Yes it is," Dean argued, taking the cube from Sam. "I saw it in a display, with all different kind of them. I asked and the guy stocking them said that this one-" Dean took the toy from his brother "-is electronic. You turn it on and the lights tell you the color, but they change as you go. And this one-" Dean reached into the bag again, taking out another cube "-with this one, you have to make it a cube _again_ , because all the blocks are different sizes, so when you mix it up, it becomes a weird shape! Isn't that cool? And I figured, hey- I like puzzles, Sammy's a geek, why not? So I bought them!"

Sam continued to stare at his brother in disbelief.

Dean became defensive. "Dude- if you don't like them, don't play with them." Dean opened the cube with the different sized pieces and promptly mixed it up. "Put away the other groceries, I'll take the balls to the court." And Dean left Sam standing there in the kitchen, staring after him. Dean smirked out of sight.

He'd give it 2 hours.

* * *

Dean had initially just planned to leave the cube alone after mixing it up, then pretend he couldn't solve it after so long. And if that pretense took place very loudly in a room where Sam happened to spend most of his time, well, then, that's just a bonus.

But Dean hadn't counted on the cube being so… intriguing. He was already invested in solving it by the time he reached the court and set down the bag with the basketballs. Pausing on his way out of the room, Dean stood in the hallway, green eyes focused intently on the puzzle in his hands. He didn't even notice Sam stop and watch him at the other side of hallway, steadily walking closer. Dean twisted and turned the pieces, mind racing, thinking five or six steps ahead. He hadn't been lying to Sam; he did enjoy puzzles, and the tactician brain his father had nurtured and honed since he was seven and showing signs of proficiency in math and science and solving the next grade's logic problems was loving the challenge this simple cube presented.

Sam by now was standing right beside him in the hallway. The youngest Winchester was intrigued against his will by his brother's childish buy. He watched in amazement as Dean twisted each piece with deft and talented fingers, seemingly effortlessly coaxing the cube back to it's original shape. The Winchester brothers stood in total silence in the doorway of the basketball court for close to ten minutes, the only sound the clicking and twisting of the cube in Dean's hands. Suddenly, Dean gave a shout of victory, and with three quick twists, the oddly-shaped blue object was once again a cube. Dean beamed at Sam. "That was great!"

Sam held out his hand, demanding a turn. "I wanna try it!"

Dean smirked. "I dunno, little brother. This may be above even your giant brain."

Sam pouted. "If you can do it, I can, too. I can do anything you can do. You mad sure of that." Sam hit him with the puppy dog eyes.

 _Now, that's just unfair_ , Dean thought helplessly. He'd been planning on giving it to Sam anyway- he bought them for that purpose- but getting a rise out of little brother was just too tempting to resist. Apparently though, Sam thought he wasn't above keeping Sam from something he wanted, and had ensured getting his way by professing his confidence that Dean had provided him with all the knowledge and skill he needed to succeed and topping that with dewy brown eyes just oozing love, want and hope.

Dean caved. As Sam snatched the cube and immediately began twisting it out of shape again, Dean thought semi-bitterly, _See, this is why he grew up so spoiled, Dad. It's impossible to listen to him tell you he loves you and not give him what he wants!_ Dean shook his head at Sam, smiling softly, then headed to the kitchen to finish groceries and then work on Sam's real present.

* * *

Dean had just put the final touches on Sam's present that morning and was making a late breakfast when he sensed Sam approaching from the hallway. The youngest Winchester halted on at the door; Dean could feel his stare on his back. Patiently waiting on his little brother, Dean flipped a pancake and started another omelet. He guessed what the issue was. He had looked in on Sam last night around midnight- the kid was in his room still going strong at the cube, looking extremely frustrated. Dean supposed that this was about Sam's frustration involving the cube. Dean knew Sam was likely coming to him to ask for help, but Dean was eagerly anticipating the gift he had for Sam today, and found that he didn't want to talk about the cube at the moment. Just as he sensed Sam about speak, Dean turned to him with a smile. "Hey, little brother! Eat up, I've got something to show you today!"

Sam, caught off guard by the plate of food suddenly shoved at him, stumbled a little. "O-okay," he agreed in confusion, slipping the unsolved puzzle into his hoodie pocket. His shame level, already pretty high from being bested by a child's puzzle toy, skyrocketed at Dean's apparent assumption that his little brother had solved the puzzle, too. Sam knew that, for all his teasing about encyclopedic knowledge, that Dean was proud of how smart his little brother was, and considered Sam the genius thinker and himself the useless hunter. And while Sam most definitely didn't agree with all of that, and blamed his Dad for most of it, the part of Sam that was Sammy- pure love, admiration and hero worship of his larger than life big brother- craved that pride in Dean's eyes when the steady green gaze was focused on him and couldn't stand the thought of Dean thinking any less of him. So he swallowed his request for help and tried to think of other things. He pestered Dean for details on what he was so desperate to show him, but Dean just beamed brighter and pointed to the food still covering Sam's plate. Finally, Sam had eaten everything to Dean's satisfaction (his brother having long since finished) and no sooner had Sam deposited his plate and fork in the sink than Dean was at the door of the kitchen, beckoning excitedly to his brother. Sam smiled, caught up in the enthusiasm, and followed Dean through the halls of the bunker to an add-on to the library they had discovered when they first moved in. Dean halted in front of a bookshelf and turned to Sam.

"Do you know what today is?"

Blind-sided, Sam stuttered, "Wh-what?"

His serious look was in sharp contrast to the lightheartedness of moments ago. "Do you know what today is?" Dean asked again.

Sam looked at him blankly.

"November 2nd," Dean said quietly. Sam was immediately sober. "The day mom died," Dean continued softly. "The day Jess died." Sam looked away, a guilty feeling rising up in him. It wasn't that he'd forgotten Jess- he never, ever would- but so much had happened since that she had slipped away from the forefront of his thoughts into the treasured reserves of his mind and memories. Dean gave him a sad smile, like he knew what Sam was thinking. "It's also," Dean continued, making Sam look at him in surprise and dread. What other horrible thing happened on this day? "Your half birthday."

Sam blinked. _What?_

Dean was still going. "Today marks the day that either half a year ago or in half a year, I've heard it both ways, is the anniversary of my little brother's birth and the start of one of the greatest things I have ever had the pleasure of being a part of- big brotherhood." Sam blushed with pleasure. "But we don't always associate today with those great things," Dean said seriously, "And any and all sorts of life should be cause for celebration, so today, little brother, we begin the new tradition of making good memories on bad days. Not forgetting or replacing the reasons we have to grieve, but also not dwelling on them to the point of our own destruction. So, I present to you-" Dean pulled on a book on the shelf behind him. It swung open and Dean shoved Sam through. "- the Funbrary." Sam gaped in amazement at the shelves of books in front of him surrounding two over stuffed armchairs and reading lamps, a coffee table in the center. Dean was explaining from behind him as he shut the door. "I found it when I was looking for a book on this-" a vague movement of the arm with the Mark made his point clear- "I nudged a book and it swung open so I had to check it out. And get this, Sammy- I checked the whole thing and there's not one book that's actually about hunting. It's all the classics and non-fiction books you used to love. I also looked it over, and went out and added some more recent books you enjoy; you know, stuff that didn't get published in the forties. And I thought, Isn't this place perfect for my geek little brother? Of course it is! So…" Dean kept rambling on about how he developed his master plan but Sam had stopped listening upon hearing Dean's affirmation that Sam was the smartest person he knew.

Clutching the book he had picked up at random off the shelves to his chest, Sam wailed internally, _But I'm not, Dean! I can't even solve the stupid puzzle! How am I going to save you from the Mark?_ Eyes closed and fighting off tears, Sam failed to notice Dean's proximity to him until a soft touch was on his arm and a gentle voice in his ear.

"What's wrong, Sammy? Don't you like it?"

 _Stop it, Sam! Dean's been nothing but good and kind to you all your life, and now he's given you a library like you've always wanted, and he thinks you hate it because you can't get your crap together! Suck it up!_ Tears leaked their way out from behind tightly screwed eyelids.

"Sammy? What's wrong?" Dean's voice was panicky now.

Sam sucked in a breath. "I l-love it, Dean. Tha-thanks."

Dean was still confused. "Then why are you crying?"

"I don't deserve it!" Sam cried, turning heartbroken eyes to his big brother. "I know you think I'm so smart, and clever, and- and _capable_ , and I've always tried to make you proud, Dean, I have-"

"Whoa, whoa, I know!"

Sam was having none of it. "- but I'm just not as smart as you think I am! I can't even solve the Rubik's cube when you could! Not that I don't think you're smart, because you are, you're the smartest person I know, but it took you, like, fifteen minutes and I've been working on it for _hours_ and I'm no closer to finishing it than I was when I started! And if I can't even solve that stupid cube, how am I going to save you from the Mark and keep you from leaving me again?!"

Sam was in near hysteria by the end of his rant, and he sucked in a sharp breath to calm himself, holding it the way Dean had taught him. Said big brother patiently waited for Sam to once again be in control before asking gently, "Ya done?"

Sam let out a shaky breath. "Yeah."

"Good. Sit." Sam did. "Now, listen up, 'cause I'll only say this once- Sam, I am so damn proud of you it hurts sometimes."

"But-"

"Quiet, Sammy. Now, I'll let you in on a little secret, little brother. I've been doing Rubik's cubes almost my whole life. Dad used to buy them to keep me occupied when he was on a hunt and you were sleeping in the car. I've done them off and on since then. When I was hunting solo when you were at frickin' _Stanford_ on a full ride, I bought new ones of increasing difficulty just to keep myself from being bored outta my mind some days. Now granted, I haven't practiced in a long time, it's like riding a bike, and I'm just more experienced than you. So don't go being disappointed that you didn't get it in my time. Idda been surprised if you did. Now that doesn't mean that you'll never solve it. In fact, once you solve it a few times, it'll be easy as pie for you, too, and you'll be back to outshining me in no time. And, Sammy, look at me." Dean waited until their eyes were locked. "Don't think that you saving me depends on a kid's game. It's all about what's up here-" he ruffled Sam's hair and let his hand slide to grip Sam's neck "- and right here." He placed a hand on Sam's heart. "And if I believe in anything these days, Sammy, it's your good mind and good heart, and they have saved me more times than you can count. Because you've saved me a lot, not because you can't count that high." Sam snorted wetly. Dean patted his chest before breaking away. "Okay, my estrogen quota's been filled for the next three years."

Sam laughed and moved to put away the book in his hands. _Moby Dick , huh? I've always wanted to read that._

"Oh, Sammy," Dean called to him. Sam turned to see Dean waving the cube. "Got time to learn one more thing?" Sam was at his side in a heartbeat, eagerly listening to every word his brother said.

He glanced up at his brother's face adoringly. _Best present EVER_.


	7. December

**This chapter and the next will be shorter than the others, in order for me to get caught up on this story. Also, these don't really need much foreplay, so that helps a lot. Please enjoy December 2nd.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own SPN, Risk, Moby Dick, Barnes & Noble or Starbucks. Sadly.**

 **Enjoy and R &R please! I love feedback!**

* * *

Much like it's surprising heat in the summer, Kansas is surprisingly cold in the winter. It's not so much the temperature as the biting, whistling wind Sam swears is sharp enough to cut your face.

He hated it, preferring to stay indoors in his libraries reading, letting Dean brave the elements. It was only late November, so it wasn't truly winter yet- Sam knew the dates of all the solstices and equinoxes, seeing as how they were so vital to so many rituals and spells- but the chilling wind was already starting, and he had dragged out his old coat for warmth in the naturally cool bunker.

His stupid brother was relishing the cold. Dean had always enjoyed staying places that were cooler, only mourning the effect on his baby. When Sam preferred to stay indoors with blankets, hot chocolate and a thick book, Dean was building sleds and snowmen, and unknowingly using his natural charisma to find and round up enough kids to play a kind of Risk: Snowball Edition. (He always won.) So Sam knew his big brother was enjoying the cool weather, especially since he finally had a garage for his baby. And despite the fact that the increasing cold reminded him of a century in the cage, Sam swallowed his discomfort and added another layer of flannel.

* * *

Dean knew Sam was suffering from the persistent cold in the bunker. After all, Dean had been present when Lucifer had confessed his natural cool temperature and after a few hallucinations and drunken confessions, he had deduced that Sam's hell had been a much cooler one than his. Since then, he'd done his best to make sure Sam stayed as warm as possible. He also refused to take cases farther north than Cincinnati at this time of year.

Until Cas called their attention to a demon uprising in Seattle.

Sam agreed with no hesitation, despite the cool weather they were bound to have. Dean was perplexed but drove the 1,639 miles to Washington state. At his brother's insistence, no less. _In fact_ , Dean thought with a frown, _Sam seemed really excited to be going so far north when it's practically December._ Unable to let sleeping dogs lie, Dean questioned his brother about it when he woke up to take his turn driving.

And immediately regretted it. Sam's eyes lit up like the Fourth of July. "In 1971, Starbucks was founded in Seattle," Sam informed him seriously, a sort of reverent tone to his voice. "Jerry Baldwin, Zev Siegl-"

"The hell kind of name is Zev Siegl?"

"Shut up, Dean. Zev Siegl and Gordon Bowker started selling coffee beans and coffee-making equipment but then they hired and eventually sold Starbuck to Howard Shultz, who's the CEO now and he started brewing their coffee and Dean- it's heaven. It's so flavorful and rich and _awesome_ , it's unbelievable. They've got a partnership with Barnes &Noble Booksellers and free wifi at every location! AND the name is even literary; it's named after the first mate from Herman Melville's classic novel _Moby Dick_ , Starbuck."

"'Call me Ishmael.' And what the hell kind of name is Starbuck, though, really?"

"A Quaker one, I guess. Starbuck is described as a 'thin, earnest Nantucket Quaker'." Sam looked over at his brother from the driver's seat, slight surprise on his face. "You've read it?"

"Yeah. Twice, actually. Once in high school, another time when you were at Stanford and I was laid up for a week with 20 stitches from a werewolf in my side." Dean looked amused at his brother's surprise. "I do read, you know."

Sam had the grace to be embarrassed. "I know. I just, I didn't think you would like it."

"Dude, it's about hunting a giant whale. That's freaking cool. And it reminded me of us a little, too. I kinda saw Dad as Captain Ahab, Moby Dick as the Yellow-Eyed Demon and myself as Starbuck (besides the religious part). Ishmael even reminded me a little bit of you, except I knew I could always depend on you. But Dad was so obsessed with finding the thing that killed Mom, that the whole thing reminded me of us, our lives."

Sam was quiet for a mile or so, once again in awe of his brother. "Wow. I never thought about it that way." With mock annoyance, Sam demanded, "Where was this literary insight when I needed it back in high school?"

"Scoring dates, little brother." Dean smirked as Sam barked out a laugh. Turning to the window to get some sleep before they reached Washington, Dean thought about his brother and his "hipster" love of coffee. Since this hunt was probably going to take them out of the bunker for December 2nd, Dean needed a new plan.

And he thinks he found it.

* * *

It was actually the morning of December 2nd when the Winchester's were finally able to leave Seattle. Dean went to get breakfast and coffee for the road, leaving Sam to pack up the room. Sam had already made them stop at the first Starbucks their first day in town, and had forced Dean to try a drink (which he would die before admitting that it was in fact the best damn coffee he'd ever had) and had bought himself an elaborate soy milk, pumpkin, nutmeg… thing in a souvenir mug.

Today, Dean stopped at that Starbucks by himself. He immediately was flagged down by a cute barista.

"Good morning! What can I get you today, sir?"

Dean gave her his most charming smile and placed his order.

* * *

Sam sighed as he heard his brother honk from the parking lot. "Sammy! Let's go! We'll eat in the car!"

Grabbing the bags they brought, Sam took them to the trunk and threw them in before climbing into the passenger seat of the Impala. He sighed tiredly.

And consequently breathed in deeply, sitting to attention when he smelled- "Is that Starbucks?"

Dean grinned at him and handed him a venti drink. Sam returned the smile. "You're awesome, bro."

"I know." Dean sipped his own drink and turned the car towards home. "Now grab some Zeppelin from the back, Sam. I need tunes."

Sam obligingly turned to grab the cassette box, and froze when he saw the back seat. On the bench of the Impala's backseat was a large tub of Starbucks coffee, every flavor, every size. Some were repeats, others had only one box. There was a set of mugs included, too. "Dean?" Sam questioned.

"Yeah?"

"What's this?"

"Well, I was getting us coffee this morning, and remembered we're all out of coffee at the bunker. So, while I was there and thinking about it, I decided, what the heck?"

Sam read between the lines and smiled, grabbing his brother's favorite Zeppelin cassette. _Best present ever._


	8. January

**I know! This was fast! But that's because it's short and the next one is gonna be long and late. Sorry in advance.**

 **Discliamers: The usual. Nothing is mine but the plot.**

 **R &R! Love y'all.**

* * *

Another Christmas had come and gone largely uncelebrated by the brothers. Having both been to hell and back (literally) they at least tried to acknowledge the holiday and treat each other more kindly- doing things without complaining, being a little more affectionate in words and actions, and when possible, buy a present or two for the other man. This year, the holiday season from Thanksgiving (also an uncelebrated event in the Winchester home) to nearly New Year was filled with demon and angel conflicts, as well as leads to follow-up on for the Mark of Cain. Dean was losing hope for a cure fast, Sam knew, and he was gaining desperation for any answer.

This year, they managed to find some downtime in between jobs- Sam never really called them 'hunts' anymore, since they did so little actual hunting these days- and bought whiskey and eggnog to drink as they watched and talked over old Christmas movies on pay per view. Sam had managed to find a barbeque cookbook for Dean in their travels and he presented it to Dean with a shy smile. Dean for his part accepted it with excitement, and spent the night perusing the recipes, calling out a few to his brother, suggesting sides to accompany them. Sam was given a $20 gift card to B&N with a note saying, _I hear the Starbucks inside takes these_ , tucked inside a copy of _The Crucible_ by Arthur Miller. Sam immediately began spouting facts about John Proctor and the Salem witch trials. Dean's only response was to roll his eyes, and turn up the volume of _It's a Wonderful Life_.

Now it was January 1st, and Dean was fully prepared for Sam's first gift of the new year. He waited with eager anticipation for the next day, when his plan would go into effect. He spent the day preparing all they would need, and Sam, briefly curious, was easily deflected by coffee, a book or one of the Rubik's cubes. Finally, Dean ushered both Sam and himself to bed, unable to wait for the coming morning any longer. In the privacy of his own room, Dean did a little dance of anticipation.

Tomorrow would be great.

* * *

Sam was awoken obscenely early by an unnaturally and equally obscenely happy brother. "Rise and shine, Sammy!" Dean called out cheerfully. "Pack a day bag! We're going out, and I don't expect we'll be back before dark, little brother!"

Sam checked the clock. "What the hell, man? It's 6:15 in the morning."

Dean was bouncing up and down slightly. "So?"

"'So?'?" Sam was incredulous. "Dean, the _sun_ isn't even up yet."

"And?"

"' _And?_ '?! Dean, you're _never_ up before the sun. Willingly at least. So why are you now?"

Dean only continued to smile. "Get moving, Sammy. It's going to be a good day." And with that, the elder Winchester left the room, calling over his shoulder. "Bring your bag to the garage in 10!"

Sam could only stare after him and comply.

* * *

Eight minutes later, Sam was waiting with his back resting on the Impala and a backpack at his feet when Dean came strolling into the garage with a bag of his own and their trusty green cooler that had weathered two tour of hell, one of Purgatory, an apocalypse and more fires than should be allowed in a lifetime.

Dean grinned at his brother. "Good! You're here! We can get going."

"Yeah, where are we going?" Sam asked as Dean put the cooler in the backseat along with both bags.

"Nowhere." Dean started the car and began pulling out of the bunker's garage.

"Haha. Very funny." Sam glared. "Really, where are we going?"

"Shh, Sammy," Dean locked up the bunker. "All will be made known."

Sam tried to glare it out of his brother, but the jerk remained relaxed and unfazed. Finally, Sam relented and just watched the scenery whiz by, trying to guess which way they were headed. It was silent in the Impala for nearly an hour. Just as Sam was starting to doze off, Dean slowed and pulled over to a rest stop on the side of the road. Sam sat up and looked around. "Are we here?"

"No. I keep telling you we're not going anywhere, Sam." Dean put the car in park but made no move to get out.

Sam followed his example, eyeing his brother strangely. "Then why are we here?"

Dean ignored him. "Sam, do you know why I love driving?"

Sam was completely unprepared for that question. "Um, because you like cars?"

Dean laughed. "Well, that's one reason, I guess. But do you know why I really love it?" Sam shook his head. "I love driving because I feel free. It's just me, a car, and the open road, and I can go however far I want, whatever speed I want, whenever I want. It's very cleansing. It becomes mindless, and methodic, and I always feel better after a drive. They make me feel closer to Dad, and you, and to Cas in a weird way, and I feel closer to Mom, some days, too. You know she loved Sunday drives? We used to pack lunches on Sundays and drive all day, the three of us. Then you came along and it was four of us. I can remember a lot of those days, and it makes me happy." Dean made eye contact with Sam. "So today, although it's not Sunday, we're going to drive as far as we want for as long as we want as fast as we want with a picnic lunch and few beers and waters, listening to music and talking. Starting the year off right. Today," Dean said turning off the car. "I'm teaching my little brother to Sunday drive."

Dean held out the keys.

Sam stared in shock. "You're letting me drive?"

"Yeah." Dean shrugged. "Unless you don't want to."

Sam took the keys. Dean smiled.

* * *

Sam sat at the pull out of the rest stop, looking from right to left at the empty highway. "Where are we going?"

Dean leaned back. "It's always a 'where' with you, Sammy. We're not going anywhere. Just drive."

"But which way do I go?" Sam protested helplessly.

Dean shrugged. "It doesn't matter. Don't you get it, Sam? That's the point. For once, what you choose doesn't matter. You can go either way. We have nowhere to be. Choose a direction and go." Dean put on sunglasses. "Let me know if you want to switch out."

Sam pulled into the street.

* * *

Dean was right, they didn't return to the bunker until late that night. Sam had never had such a good time. He and Dean had listened to all sorts of music, singing along when they felt the mood hit and just listening or talking other times. They talked about everything from their childhood to old cases to funny stories to movies. They ate the sandwiches Dean made and drank the beer and water. Dean had packed cases of gasoline in the trunk, so stops were minimal.

Sam and Dean only swapped out a few times. Sam had found the whole "Sunday drive" relaxing, and was loath to give up the wheel. He completely understood that part of Dean now. But when he was forced to take a break, Dean was never critical and as soon as Sam requested it back, Dean relinquished his spot. Sam was caught completely off-guard the first time it happened.

 _He had just woken from a little cat nap, feeling totally refreshed. He glanced over at his brother, hoping he was tired enough to let Sam drive again, though he knew that was unlikely. Sure enough, Dean didn't look tired in the slightest. Sam sighed softly, and made himself comfortable again._

 _"Ready to take over?" Dean asked suddenly, never taking his eyes from the road._

 _"What?" Sam was startled._

 _"I said, wanna take over?" Dean said, looking at Sam to let him know he was completely serious. "It is your drive after all."_

 _"You don't mind?" Sam was surprised, but not going to question his brother._

 _"Well, if you scratch her, I'll have to kill ya, Sammy," Dean said with a smile, already pulling over._

Now home, Sam was still all smiles from the memories. As they unloaded the car, Sam looked over at his brother. "Thanks, Dean," he said with heartfelt gratitude.

Dean shrugged easily. "Don't mention it. I needed a good drive, too." He retreated to the bunker calling first shower.

Sam smiled, knowing as well as Dean did that there were two showers. Picking up his things to follow his brother, Sam patted the Impala on her hood affectionately. "Thanks to you, too."

Pausing at the door to the garage, Sam looked back at the Impala, hood gleaming in the fluorescent light. Smiling, Sam turned his head toward where his brother had disappeared and flicked off the garage lights.

 _Best present ever._


	9. January 24th

**I am so, so, SO sorry this is so late! It's been crazy here in my life, and this has been a slow and steady work in progress. But hopefully the next couple chapters will be pretty short and fast. Hope you still enjoy it.**

 **This chapter is some Dean-loving by Sam. Not the usual.**

 **All the usual disclaimers and I know it's not totally cannon, but lets face it, none of this really is.**

* * *

Dean's birthday was in a few days.

Sam was in his room, staring at a calendar, the date January 24th circled in red. Dean's birthday had been on his mind since the older man had taken them on the little "Sunday drive" a few weeks ago and he'd abruptly realized he had nothing planned for Dean's birthday. Which, in light of all of Dean's surprise gifts for Sam, was completely unacceptable.

Sam racked his brain for something to get his brother. After coming up blank for what seemed like the hundredth time, Sam flopped back on to his bed with a groan. Why was his brother so hard to shop for? Dean never seemed to struggle getting _him_ gifts. Why couldn't they be more similar, or at least have the same likes? It's so unfair. Sam moaned again, rolling onto his stomach. His eyes came to rest on his old duffle bag, which he only used when they were going on longer hunts these days. Sam stared at it gloomily. He was a failure as a brother. Dean was such an amazing gift giver and Sam just sucked at it. He could think of only one time he actually got something Dean liked.

Sam shot up suddenly, eyes focusing on the bag. Gone were the gloomy puppy dog eyes, replaced instead with bright, happy ones. Sam beamed.

He knew exactly what to get Dean.

* * *

The next day, Sam went out shopping. He begged the Impala off of Dean and spend the day out looking for everything he needed to make Dean's birthday great. He stopped at the local bakery. The owners knew him by sight, not by name, since Dean came so often. When he explained it was Dean's birthday the next day, the spry older woman beamed a motherly smile and shooed out her son to find all the ingredients needed for a fresh apple-cranberry pie.

"It's my latest recipe, Sam, dear," she said. "I haven't set it out because I've been waiting for Dean to come by and taste test it for me." She rang up the classic apple pie and a cherry one and told Sam to leave his number so he could be called when the new pie was ready. Sam thanked her profusely as he backed out of the bakery door, the two pies in his arms. He placed them gently in the backseat and drove off in search of the next stop in his preparation for Dean's birthday.

Two hours and a quick stop at the bakery later, and Sam was pulling into the garage and hiding the presents until he could ascertain that Dean wouldn't catch him. A quick investigation of the bunker revealed Dean to be asleep in his room, headphones in and a half empty bottle of whiskey from the liquor cabinet dangling from his hand. Sam's eyes softened with sympathy even as they tightened with worry. The nightmares must have been bad. Sam wished again that he could take away his brother's pain.

Sam snorted softly at his own thoughts as he moved forward to gently relieve his brother of the bottle. He found more and more as he grew older, and as Dean took on more and more responsibility to save him and the world yet again, running himself into the ground, that he sympathized with how Dean must have felt- must still feel- whenever Sam was hurt or tired of the hardships their lifestyle required. It was funny to him now how much it annoyed him as a stupid kid (and young adult, honestly) when his brother tried to solve Sam's problems or protect him from monsters of all shapes and sizes; now it was a treasured gift. Somewhere in between Stanford, hell, heaven and the Trials, Sam was finally coming to understand the depth of Dean's love and devotion to him.

Dean moaned and writhed as Sam placed the bottle on the bedside table. "Shhhhh," Sam soothed, rubbing his brother's back and meeting the glazed green eye that slit open to assess the threat. "It's just me, bro. 'S safe to sleep, man." Dean just grunted and after quick, sleepy scan of his little brother, sunk back into the oblivion of sleep. Sam smiled and went to bring in the things he'd collected for Dean's birthday.

* * *

Dean woke up with a start, biting back a scream. He sucked in a harsh breath, pressing the palms of his hands to his eyes, desperately trying to erase the images burned into his retina. Twenty minutes later and Dean finally evened his breathing and stomped down on his nausea, just in time for Sam to cautiously knock and enter with a cup of coffee.

"Hey," he said softly, offering the steaming mug. Dean grunted and took it, avoiding Sam's worried gaze. Raising the cup to his lips, a quick inhale revealed that Sam had sprung for Dean's favorite flavor from the basket of Starbucks in December. Knowing how low that stash was becoming, Dean was overwhelmed with guilt. He didn't deserve his brother's kindness after most likely waking him from his own dreamless sleep. He pushed the cup away.

"Just get me some plain black," he said gruffly. "Or, better yet, a bottle of whiskey."

Sam frowned in confusion at his brother's rejection. "But this is your favorite-"

"I don't have the time for your girly shit today, _Samantha_ ," Dean snarled. Sam recoiled from the heat in his brother's words, cheeks flushing in embarrassment. Dean felt bad but couldn't seem to stop the hurtful words from spilling out of his mouth. "So either make yourself useful for once and get me a black coffee, heavy on the whiskey, or make yourself scarce." Sam, cheeks still pink and eyes downcast in shame and embarrassment, picked up the rejected mug and left the room with a small nod. When he was gone, Dean flopped back on to his mattress with a guilt-ridden groan. Not only had he turned down a perfectly good cup of coffee, but he'd hurt his baby brother's feelings now, too. Great. Well, there was only one thing to do in these situations, Dean supposed. Take a hot shower to wake up and go apologize to Sammy. Dean stepped into his bathroom with determination. _There's no reason the Mark should destroy both of them._

Emerging from his room cleanly shaven and free of his nightmare's cold sweat, Dean felt much better. The man turned himself resolutely to the library, ready to apologize. As he neared the library, however, a bitter smell began to infiltrate his scent glands. An overly familiar, bitter smell.

Smoke.

Dean was over taken with panic. "Sam!" Before he could process any conscious orders from his brain to his body, Dean was dashing for the kitchen, frantic. " _SAMMY!_ " In record time, Dean was barging into the kitchen, barely taking in the scene as he scanned for his baby brother. Spotting him by the stove, Dean lurched forward and hauled Sam from the flames and smoke. Depositing his precious cargo down the hall, Dean snarled, "Stay here." Pausing only a moment to ensure his coughing baby brother understood, Dean hurried to the kitchen and began to clear the air. The source of the smoke seemed to be… some sort of pie in the oven. At least, Dean assumed it had started out in the oven. Currently it was all over the floor and stovetop, where the rest of the smoke and burning was coming from, along with what Dean assumed was supposed to be scrambled eggs. Having thus determined the source of the disaster, Dean easily cleaned and rid the kitchen of the smoke. When he was satisfied with the kitchen, Dean turned to leave and find his brother. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of the table and did a double take.

The table was covered in a soft green cloth, and was littered with food and… presents.

Dean blinked and walked closer. His eyes spotted an envelope on the table with his name written on it in Sam's scholarly scrawl. With a sinking feeling in his stomach- actually, it was more of a sinking sensation throughout his whole body- Dean opened the envelope.

Inside was a cheap and cheesy dollar store card, the kind he and his younger brother had jokingly tried to out-do each other with for almost every occasion from birthdays to Christmas. This one had two hill-billys looking at a race car. The speech bubbles above their heads read " _Nas car, righ'?" "Yup. Real nas."_ When opened, the printed text proclaimed **How the term 'NASCAR' was invented. Happy birthday.**

Dean was sure his stomach could go no lower as he whipped his head around to check the calendar Sam set up a week or so ago near the sink. He was wrong.

Today's date was circled with a bold red: January 24th. Dean's birthday. Hands trembling and eyes blurring, Dean struggled to read the rest of the card, which was filled with the same writing as the envelope that bore his name.

 _Dean,_

 _It's kind of impromptu, but I hope you don't mind the surprise. What you said back in November about celebrating the good things got me thinking, and I realized that you're right; we never really acknowledge the days that have good meanings in our lives. So I want to dedicate today to the best thing in my life and the sole reason I've survived so long. I hope that's okay with you. I wasn't around when this became an important day, but trust me when I say that out of a lifetime of terrible days, this has always been one of the best, because it meant that I would always have someone who made the bad days a little better and the great days so much more. So the little brother who will always need you, happy birthday, to the best big brother ever._

 _Love,_

 _Sam_

Dean sunk to his knees, and cried.

* * *

When Sam was deposited in the hallway by his brother and commanded to stay put, it was all he could do not to burst into tears and run to hide in his room. As it was, he curled in on himself, coughing and wheezing and hiccupping down his tears as he wallowed in self-pity.

It had all started when he heard his brother shout himself awake from a nightmare. Determined to make Dean feel better, Sam had gone to make Dean a cup of coffee, using the last of his brother's favorite Starbuck's brew. He was going to have done that anyway, along with bringing up a warmed up slice of pie to his older brother to celebrate his birthday, but it seemed like the pie would have to wait. Still, Sam preheated the oven and slid the cherry pie into it to warm up before carefully carrying the mug to his big brother's room. He knocked and entered with a soft "Hey," handing the cup to his brother. He was about to wish Dean happy birthday when Dean frowned at the mug and pushed it back into Sam's hands.

"Just get me some plain black. Or, better yet, a bottle of whiskey."

Sam frowned, confused and a little hurt by the rejection. "But this is your favorite-"

Dean honest to goodness snarled at him and Sam thought he saw a flash of black in the green eyes of the brother he loved. But then it was gone and Sam brushed it off as a trick of the light. "I don't have the time for your girly shit today, _Samantha_. So either make yourself useful for once and get me a black coffee, heavy on the whiskey, or make yourself scarce."

Sam flinched, feeling heat and shame rise in his cheeks. He should have known better. He should have known Dean didn't want to be disturbed as he fought the Mark in the early morning, should have known Dean didn't want to feel pitied, or be faced with the reminder that Sam still didn't know how to actually help him. Bring him coffee wouldn't help Dean. Sam should have known better. Dean always knew what Sam wanted and needed, and Sam tried his best to follow all of Dean's good examples, so Sam. Should've. KNOWN. He nodded, eyes downcast and cheeks pink, and left the room with the coffee. He found himself back in the kitchen. After looking over his set up, presents on the table and some cold breakfast items, Sam decided to go ahead with his plan for breakfast. He'd just give it to Dean down here instead. The more he thought, the more convinced he was that Dean just needed another half hour or so to get mentally prepared for another day of fighting the Mark's dark call. His big brother hadn't really meant to snap at him. When Dean came down to the kitchen, he'd undoubtedly apologize and be hungry, and Sam would shrug it off and offer the food his brother needed and they'd be good.

So he'd set about making breakfast. He was scrambling eggs when he smelled something odd; acidic and bitter and familiar. Smoke. Sam's brain worked fast to determine the source. Hazel eyes widened in horror. _Dean's pie_. Sam threw open the oven and snatched out the now blackened cherry pie, releasing as he did a cloud of smoke. Just as he was bringing it up out of the oven, his brain caught up to the fact that he wasn't wearing any gloves. Unable to hold in a howl of pain, Sam involuntarily dropped the pie-

-right into the scrambled eggs on the stove. The pie and frying pan clattered together, flipping over each other, sending pieced of egg and cherry pie in to the flames of the bunker's gas stove. More smoke filled kitchen, and the stoves flames eagerly ate up the cherries and eggs that had fallen prey to it. Sam tried to quickly soothe his hand under cool water, bat out the smoke and turn the oven and stove off. In the middle of all of this, he could hear his brother's concerned then panic-filled voice calling his name. _Great_. When he tried to yell back, he inhaled a lung full of smoke and choked. _Double great_.

Dean found him that way, coughing his lungs up as he tried to do four things at once. _Triple frickin' great_.

Now he sat in the hallway, waiting for his big brother to come yell at him for screwing up the kitchen, his birthday, his friggin' LIFE, scrubbing away tears of pain and self-hate. He can't do anything right! He couldn't close the gates, he could stop Metatron from killing Dean, he couldn't stop Gadreel from killing Kevin, he was kidnapped easily by Cole (really it was embarrassing), he couldn't stop the apocalypse, He couldn't save Dean from Hell, couldn't even stop him from going! He can't find a cure for the Mark, not a safe one. He can't even cook breakfast for his brother on his birthday! Sam stifled another sob in his non-throbbing hand. It was amazing Dean even kept him around.

A loud sob broke through his pity party. Sam frowned wiping away the evidence of his own tears. He was pretty sure that didn't come from him. Quietly, Sam listened. Another sob-like sound, not as loud- in fact much softer, echoed from in the hallway. Sam cautiously got to his feet and headed to the kitchen. What he saw surprised him.

Dean was kneeling in the fetal position on the floor in front of the still decorated table, clutching something to his chest. Tears were streaming silently but with abandonment down his big brother's normally stoic face. Sam didn't think he'd ever seen Dean cry so much. It was typically just a single "man tear" as the Supernatural books called it. Sam didn't really know what to do, but he cautiously approached the elder Winchester. "Shhhh, shhhh, it's ok, Dean," Sam reached out hesitantly and rubbed his brother's back. Dean shook his head, attempting to smother and stop the tears. Sam heard a quiet and breathy protest and quickly shot it down. "No, no, big brother, it's ok. I know you had a rough morning and I wasn't helping. It's not your fault for snapping, man." Sam continued to murmur and soothe his brother until finally Dean's tears stopped and he sucked in and held a few shuddering breaths. Sam figured it was as good a time as any to talk to his brother.

"I'm sorry, Dean!" the youngest Winchester blurted out. "I didn't mean to set the kitchen on fire and burn your breakfast and freak you out and ruin your morning. I was just trying to do something nice for your birthday, since you've been doing such nice things for me lately, and I just wanted to show you I appreciate it- the stuff you do and've been doing, and I know fighting the Mark makes you tired and upset and I didn't mean to make it worse this morning, I just…" Sam trailed off. "I just wanted to do something right," he whispered softly.

There was silence in the kitchen for a moment.

"Sammy." Sam froze, waiting tensely at Dean's gravelly voice next to his ear. "Sammy, look at me." Reluctantly, Sam raised his eyes to meet Dean's. Instead of anger and condemnation, Sam found happiness, affection and the love that had been in those eyes his whole life. Dean gripped Sam's shoulder tightly. "Thank you, Sammy." Sam blinked in confusion. "For this." Dean waved Sam's card in his face. "Oh, little brother, I needed that so much, I don't think you'll ever know. It wasn't right for me to be angry at you earlier, Sammy. I did have a… difficult morning; I was remembering a lot of crap I did as a demon, and you were… too nice to me, I couldn't take it. I felt so guilty. I did terrible things as a demon, and I blew you off, and I'm constantly mean to you and I probably woke you up, and still you were thoughtful enough to bring my favorite coffee because you were worried about me. I couldn't take it so I snapped at you. But then I felt worse and I could feel myself losing to the Mark, but then I read this card," Dean smiled at Sam affectionately. "And I could remember why all the pain of fighting it was worth it. So thank you, Sam." Sam found himself suddenly engulfed in a rare and treasured big brother hug. He relaxed into it and buried his face in the crook of Dean's neck. From above him, he heard a timid, "Forgive me?"

Sam squeezed with all his might. "Of course, you big jerk."

Dean laughed shakily. "Bitch."

They pulled away from each other, and as Sam's burned hand scraped across Dean's side, he couldn't hold in a hiss of pain. Within seconds, Dean gently but firmly took Sam's hand and inspected it. He winced in sympathy. "Ouch, man. How'd this happen?"

Sam blushed. "I tried to get the pie out of the oven without gloves." Dean just arched an eyebrow. "I freaked out, okay!" Sam defended himself. "I smelled smoke and realized it was coming from your birthday breakfast pie and freaked out, so I grabbed it and when my brain caught up with my nerves, I dropped it on the eggs and, well, yeah."

Dean let out a light chuckle. "Only you, Sasquatch. So graceful." He rose to get the first aid kit. "Sit at the table Sam. I'm gonna bind your hand, cook some real eggs and then you can watch me open presents." Dean gave a cheeky wink to his brother, who laughed in agreement.

So they did.

They were finishing up Dean's awesome breakfast and admiring Dean's present pile when Dean sensed Sam's nerves on the rise again. He looked his brother in the eyes. "Alright, spill."

"Spill what?" Sam asked innocently.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Something has you nervous. So spill."

Sam pulled out a final gift, wrapped in newspaper. Dean reached out to take it, but Sam drew it back. "Some quid pro quos," Sam said firmly. Dean desperately wanted to break the mounting tension by quipping about Sam's big words ("Okay, _Counselor_.") but sensed that this was not the time. Instead he nodded. Sam took a deep breath. "One- don't laugh. It means a lot to me, and I won't have it made fun of. Two- be honest. If you don't like it or don't want it don't pretend to like it then toss it out with the morning trash. And three- if you don't want it, then give it back. Clear?" Sam glared at Dean.

Dean nodded his agreement. Sam handed over the carefully wrapped gift. Dean carefully tore it open and gapped at the item that fell into his open palm.

There it was.

Whole and polished and looking exactly as it had the day he'd… lost it.

The Samulet. (Dean had to admit he secretly called it that ever since that weird musical case.) It was in his possession once again. Sammy had returned it to him. It was more than he'd ever dared dream after the Heaven from Hell. He felt better just from holding it. His eyes flickered in shock from his palm to his brother, who he could see was on the edge of his seat with tension. Dork was probably worried he'd reject it again. _If only you knew, Sammy,_ Dean thought fondly. He tried to tell Sam that. "Sam, this…" His words failed him. Dean cleared his throat and tried again. "Sammy, I-"

But nothing would come out. The words weren't there. He couldn't think of any way to tell his brother how much it meant to him to be trusted with this again, how sorry he'd been when he came to his senses after throwing it out. Another glance proved Sam to be nearly vibrating against the urge to rip the amulet from his hands. Desperate not to let that happen, Dean frantically searched for the right words. Flashing suddenly on a sharp memory from a Christmas past, Dean suddenly knew exactly what to say. Meeting his brother's eyes squarely, Dean opened his mouth. "Thanks, Sammy," he said softly. Then he draped the cord over his head, feeling the ugly charm settle where it was dearly missed. "I love it."

And he meant every word.

Sam could tell and gave a watery smile in return. Dean got up and went to his brother, wrapping him in another hug. When Sam returned it just as tightly, Dean whispered in his ear, " _Best present ever_." Sam grinned to himself.

The brothers stayed that way for a moment longer before Dean pulled back and said teasingly, "Unless… you said 'breakfast pie'. Does that mean there's a lunch and dinner pie?"


	10. February

**I know, I know- it's not much, so why did it take so long? The easy answer- work. I've been working a ton recently and I haven't had much of a chance to write. But here it is. February.**

 **WARNING: Jessica Moore is in this chapter, and the feels are real. At least for me, because I really liked her, and feel like Sam never really got over it.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own anything.**

* * *

They were out in California for God knows what reason. Sam wasn't really sure why. They had a case in the LA area, and Dean had been hoping to see and hook up with another movie star. Sam wanted to avoid all memories of that stupid _Hell Hazers_ movie. But they had a case and some leads, so there they were.

That was a week ago.

Now, despite the fact that the case was closed, the monster was ganked, a father was saved and the girl deflowered, Sam and Dean were driving north along the California coast, instead of east toward the bunker. Sam had rolled with it at first. Kansas was northeast of LA anyway, and he had loved going to the ocean with his friends when he was at Stanford. But after a few hours of driving due north, with no eastward divergence, Sam began to get curious. "Uh, Dean?" he asked.

"Yeah?"

"Kansas is east of here, right?"

"Thanks, Captain Obvious. I didn't know."

"I'm just saying, we've been driving north for a while. Is there a case that way I should know about?"

"Nope."

"Okay, then… Is there something I should know about period? Any reason we keep going north?"

"What? A guy can't like driving along the beach?"

Sam dropped the subject. Dean was getting defensive and the tension in the car was rising to nearly unbearable levels. Sam decided to just observe. He watched the highway and palm trees fly by as they went up the coast line. He was hit by nostalgia at the sight of In-N-Out Burgers and surfers and white sand. As they continued northward, the sandy beaches and palm trees turned into rocks and vineyards, a landscape Sam was more familiar with after spending four years at Stanford. Suddenly, Sam's mind put together all the pieces. The leisurely drive up the Cali coast, Dean's nerves and defensiveness; they were headed to Palo Alto. Sam's first reaction was anger. How dare Dean plan to bring him Back here without giving Sam time to emotionally prepare! He didn't think he was quite ready to see the places he and Jess had frequented, much less the apartment where she died, or the cold grave where she was buried. Just as he thought about her gravesite, Sam suddenly realized that he _was_ ready to face the demons of his past. He just had never realized it before because, well, he didn't want to face the fact that he was actually ready to move on. Sam's hazel eyes sought out his brother, who was looking more and more tense as the miles flew by. _Dean knew,_ Sam suddenly thought. _Dean knew that I was avoiding this moment. He knew I was avoiding letting her memory go._

Glancing out the windshield, Sam saw the exit sign for Palo Alto. He sucked in a breath.

"We don't have to, Sammy," Dean said quietly from beside him, even as he got into the right-most lane. "We can keep going and then make our way back to Kansas, if you want."

"No." Sam's voice cracked a little, and he cleared his throat. When he spoke again, it was much stronger and confident. "No. Let's get off here."

Dean pulled off the highway.

* * *

Sam stood alone at the foot of a marbled headstone, eyes tracing the golden script over and over. _Jessica_. _Jessica. Jessica. Jess…_ Hazel eyes travelled from his lover's name to the picture embedded in the stone. Jess smiled back up at him, and it seemed to him that her smile widened just a little and her gorgeous eyes brightened with love.

"H-hey, Jess," Sam whispered. It was silent for a long moment. "Dean and I bought you these flowers." The former student held out the bouquet of yellow tulips. "Your favorite. Dean was kind of shocked that you liked yellow flowers the best. He thought you'd be into, like, purple or red or something. I told him what you told me, that the yellow reminded you of sunshine. Dean thought about that for a second, and then agreed with you. Then guess what he said? He said that was one of the reasons he liked sunflowers so much. My badass big brother basically just admitted to me that he had a favorite flower, and that it's a freakin' _sunflower_." Sam shook his head, smiling as he arranged the tulips on the headstone. "I swear, Jess, that when I left for Stanford, I thought I knew everything about that man. But he keeps surprising me. I learn something new about him every day." Sam smiled affectionately, eyes unfocused. "Dean's been doing this thing recently where he just… _does_ things for me, out of the blue. It's every month, like clockwork, right near the beginning of the month. It's always, like, the first or second day. I can't figure out why, though." Sam's brow furrowed, then cleared. "He's the one who brought me here today, Jess. I'm sorry I haven't come since I left town. I've missed you every day though. I'm serious. Not a day goes by when I don't think of you at least once, just in passing. Like a flash of curly hair, or a laugh in the distance, or… Dean made chocolate chip cookies a few days ago, I thought of you then." Sam's eyes started to water. "It's been a little over ten years, Jess, since- since the fire, and you'll never know how sorry I am. I'm sorry I left you alone in the house to go with Dean, I'm sorry I never told you about my past, I'm sorry you moved in with me and that you got hurt by what I brought from my past. But, Jess? I'll never, ever be sorry that you loved me. 'Cause I was so much better for having loved you and having you in my life. You got me through the loneliness, and homesickness, and actual sickness, and tests and classes and- and I just want you to know that I still love you more than anything. Well, almost anything. I love Dean a whole hell of a lot, too. He's really sick right now and I have to help him, otherwise… I'll lose him and I can't do that anymore, Jess, I can't. I just… I'm not strong enough to go without my brother again. But anyway… I love you, Jess, and I always will. But I think I'm finally ready to let go. Not completely, but maybe not holding on as tightly, huh? Dean realized it before I did, and that's why he brought me here today. I guess that makes this my February present." Sam looked over his shoulder towards the place where Dean was waiting with the Impala, seemingly reading headstones and less obviously watching Sam. "He's a good brother, Jess. I wish you could have known him, that I didn't keep you from him. But that's in the past, and you always told me to let go and face the future. And I'm finally ready to let go, with Dean's help. And that's the best present ever." Sam wiped away a few stray tears. "Never forget: I love you, Jess."

Feeling somehow both lighter and heavier and heavier after speaking to Jess, Sam turned from the gravesite and walked slowly over to his brother. Dean didn't approach him, he just watched as Sam came slowly up to him.

"Ready to go home, little brother?" Dean asked softly.

Sam cast one last look at the marbled stone in the distance. "Yeah. Let's go home." The pair slid into their respective seats in the Impala and left the cemetery. As they pulled back onto the highway, Sam whispered, "Thanks, Dean." His big brother smiled, and pretended not to hear. Sam smiled in return and turned away, allowing himself to remember happy dreams of Fourth of July barbeques with Dean at the grill, Jess on his arm and the laughter of the two people he loved most mixing together.


	11. March

**Okay, this story is short and fluffy and covers parts of season 2 in 2006, season 6 in 2010 and of course season 10 in 2015. I'm really proud of it, excuse it's shortness.**

 **Heads up, this is a real book by Mike Brown, and I don't own it, nor have I read it, although I want to. My parents read it together, on a road trip once, and that inspired this story.**

 **So with no further ado, I don't own anything, much less Supernatural or Psych. Enjoy.**

 **By the way, thanks for all the reviews and encouragements. I don't often get around to replying, but I do read them and think you a spectacular lot.**

* * *

A few years back, before the whole Heaven v Hell v Purgatory v Apocalypse thing they had going on now, just a couple months after their dad died, Dean came back to the room they were crashing at in recovery from a nasty witch hunt to find his younger brother completely absorbed in a documentary about space. Setting the food down on the table, Dean called out to his brother, "Yo! Astronaut Sam! Lunch, and it's not freeze dried."

Sam ignored him mostly, eyes still fixed on the TV. He did, however, answer Dean's unspoken question as to what had his brother so transfixed that he had seemingly forgotten the 'torturous hunger' that made him beg Dean nearly on hands and knees to run out for food in the middle of a thunderstorm. "Dean! Get this- Pluto's not a planet anymore!"

Dean paused right before taking a large bite of his burger. "What? How can it not be a planet? It's been a planet for over a million years, since like, Galileo and stuff. You can't just undo all of that."

Sam just shook his head, eyes and attention fixed on the TV. "I don't know, they're still explaining. Something about it being too small to be a 'real planet' or something." At that moment, the lights flickered and the power went out in the motel. As the room plunged into darkness, Dean heard his brother's distressed cry, "What? NO!"

Dean chuckled, "Chill out, Sammy. The power will be back on in less than 24 hours and I'm sure this will be big news for a while. So relax. You'll learn. Now come eat before your food gets cold and you can't warm it up." Sam grumbled and Dean heard him get up, and promptly trip. Dean laughed as Sam cussed out him, the motel, the storm, and the universe.

* * *

He saw it in a bookstore while they were on some case in Toledo some four years later. They were there to talk to a sales associate who may be a werewolf. Or a 'shifter. They weren't sure yet. Dean had fully expected to be the one who had to keep the interview on track, maybe even do the whole interview if Sam was geeking out too much. But Sam was oddly straight forward, barely sparing a glance at any books or stands as they sought out the book clerk. Dean frowned. He was beginning to suspect that something was wrong with Sam, based on observations he made. He knew that hell changed a man, and he by no means expected Sammy to be exactly the same after a much longer and more brutal hell tour than his, but Sam was… off. No longer interested in things that used to make Sammy, well, _Sammy_. His suspicions grew when Sam led them right out of the bookstore after the interview, not even pretending to glance longingly around at the large book selection. Dean trailed after him, thinking hard, when the stand caught his eye.

 _How I Killed Pluto and Why It Had It Coming_ by Mike Brown.

Dean suddenly remembered a conversation from what seemed like decades ago. A power outage in a crappy motel with a sulky little brother who just wanted to know why Pluto wasn't a planet anymore. Sammy had always loved the science-y side of their star-gazing hobby. As long as it had been a tradition, Dean taught Sam the constellations, their names and how to find them, and little Sammy with his big brain and bigger curiosity would research the story and star types to tell Dean. Dean didn't know if Sam had ever found out exactly why the little planet was demoted, but maybe a book on something he was actually interested in would take his little brother's mind off work for once and kick him out of the major funk he was in that was honestly starting to scare Dean.

Mind made up, Dean made to pick up a copy, but Sam's annoyed voice called to him. "Dean!"

"Coming!" Dean responded, promising to come by for it later. He followed his brother out of the store.

Later that day as he went to grab dinner for the pair of them, Dean swung by the bookstore and made his purchase. He tossed the book to his brother when he walked in the door, laden with food. "Merry Christmas, Sammy."

Sam caught it on reflex, while responding automatically, "Sam, and it's not Christmas." Then he gave the chapter book closer inspection. "What's this?"

"A book."

"Yeah, I can see that." Sam rolled his eyes. " _How I Killed Pluto and Why It Had It Coming_? Dean, what is this?"

Dean shrugged. "I already told you. It's a book. About Pluto and why it's not a planet anymore. I thought you might want to read it. You wanted to know why when it was first announced, so… Here you go."

Sam smiled at him. "Thanks, Dean. I'll read it later, when this case is finished." Dean watched as his little brother tucked the book into his duffel, somehow knowing that it was a lie.

Dean never saw the book again.

* * *

It was mid-February in 2015 and Sam and Dean had taken to catching up on TV shows they were too busy to watch when they still lived motel to motel. Currently, they were binge watching _Psych_ on the TV in Sam's room. Dean and Sam both thoroughly enjoyed the witty banter and humor of the show, as well as the mysteries in each episode. But one thing was starting to bother Dean.

Every time Gus tried to pick up a woman, he made a terrible seductive face and said, "Did you hear 'bout Pluto? Messed up, right?"

First off, what a lame line. Dean could pull out a better one drunk and blindfolded after being spun around twelve times in a rolly chair.

And secondly, now _he_ wanted to know Pluto was demoted. And he was wondering if Sam had ever found out what happened to the furthest planet. One day as they were watching _Psych_ together after a dinner of lasagna and Sammy salad, Gus dropped the line again and Dean couldn't take it. He punched the pause button and turned to Sam. "Well?" he demanded.

Sam looked at his older brother, surprise, confusion and panic waring on his face. "What?"

"Well, what happened to Pluto? Why was it demoted? Why is Gus so upset about it? Why is it a big deal? Did you ever find out?" Dean demanded angrily.

It took Sam a moment to process Dean's questions. When it finally clicked, Sam nodded. "Yeah, I did find out. It's all in that book you got me. Did you want to read it? Mike Brown explains it a lot better than I could. And I don't know why Gus always says that. He's just awkward, I guess. It's a terrible pick up line."

Dean frowned at his brother. "What book?"

"The book you got me forever ago about Pluto, Dean, remember?" Sam went over to his desk and opened a drawer, pulling out a worn copy of a book. "This one. _How I Killed Pluto and Why It Had It Coming_. It explains everything."

Dean caught the book when his brother tossed it to him. Sam watched as his brother inspected the book. The silence dragged on for another minute or two. "Dean?" he prodded worriedly.

"Sam, I bought this book five years ago."

"Yeah," Sam agreed.

Dean finally looked up at him. "This is how I started to figure out you were soulless, Sam." He looked back down at the old book. "I guess I'm just surprised Soulless Sam didn't toss it in the trash."

Sam began to feel uncomfortable. "Yeah, about that, I'm sorry if that hurt your feelings. I just didn't have any interest in my old interests, you know? And I found it again, when you were in Purgatory, when I moved in with Amelia, and I missed you so badly that I started to read it. It…" Sam trailed off. He was willing to admit that he missed his brother while he was gone, that was a given and something Dean already knew, but he wasn't quite willing to admit that reading something that his brother had bought for him _just because he thought it would interest his little brother_ had made him feel close to Dean in moments when Sam thought he just couldn't go on anymore. "It was really interesting," he finished lamely.

Dean glanced up at him, then looked away, clearing his throat. "Was it any good?"

"Yeah, yeah, it was." Sam nodded. "It was good."

Dean smiled and set the book on the bedside table. "I'll have to read it sometime then." Dean started the episode again. Sam watched him for a second, then shook his head and sat down next to his brother.

* * *

Dean honked at the horn of the Impala shouting to his brother. "Sam! Move your lazy ass, we gotta go!"

"Coming!" Sam called in return, snatching the book he was looking for off of the bedside table in his room. He ran out to the Impala and slid in. "Okay! I'm ready!"

Dean scowled. "It's about damn time." He pealed out the gate and onto the road. "What took you so long anyway?" Sam beamed and flourished the book he had grabbed off the nightstand. Dean glanced at it, then did a double take. "Is that the Pluto book?"

"Yup!" Sam said happily. "I thought we could read it together while we drove. Like, you drive and I'll read to you." Sam looked to his brother. "Is that okay?"

"Well if you didn't like my music, just say it," Dean grumbled. It was quiet for a moment, then Dean sighed. "That meant start reading, geek."

Sam smiled and began to read.

* * *

Dean and Sam read that book every time they got in the car. Dean didn't really want to admit it, but he was getting pretty invested in that book. It was interesting. And it gave him and Sam a chance to talk. That was something he had missed these last few years.

It also gave him the idea for Sam's next gift.

* * *

Sam was perplexed when his brother announced an impromptu road trip. He didn't mind too much, though; after all, he had used as many excuses as he could think of to lure his big brother in to the car so they could read. But on this trip, they would finish the book, and then they had no other excuse for just driving around. Sam wanted to drag out the reading, but apparently Dean had other plans. As soon as they were cruising southeast on the highway Dean was demanding Sam begin reading. Sam read as slowly as he could, but before long they had reached the end.

Sam stretched out his neck and checked out their surroundings. Apparently, he'd been reading for a lot longer than he first thought. "Where are we?" he asked.

"Florida, brother mine," Dean said. "We are on our way to the Kennedy Space Center."

Sam felt excitement rise in his chest. "Wait, really?" Dean smiled and nodded. Sam beamed. "Awesome."

Within the hour they were parking the Impala and paying for day passes to the space center. Dean could practically feel Sam vibrating with repressed excitement. Sam dragged Dean around the museum half, reading all the plaques out loud and Dean forced Sam into the kid's area to look around. They watched both IMAX movies the center offered, and they ended their long day in the gift shop. Sam bought a shirt and a magnet for the bunker's fridge. Looking up for his brother as he thanked the cashier, Sam spotted him where he least expected him: the book display. Curious, Sam went over to his brother. Before he could inquire what Dean was doing, Dean as her him, "Do you like nonfiction or fiction better, Sammy?"

Sam was confused. "Wha-"

"Just answer the question, Sammy."

"I like both but I've always been partial to fiction," Sam said. "What does this have to do with anything?"

Dean didn't answer, just nodded thoughtfully. "What about science fiction?"

"To read?" Dean nodded. "I like it fine, I guess. I dunno, I've never really read any."

Dean snatched a book off the shelf. "Then I guess we'll find out together."

Sam followed the elder Winchester to the check out. "What?"

"Well, we need a new book to read on the way home, right?" Dean asked, smiling at the cashier, who blushed as she handed back the change.

Sam just stared at his brother in disbelief. "You mean, you liked reading in the car instead of listening to music?"

Dean scowled at his brother, his anger and insecurity fed by the Mark on his arm. "Well, if you didn't, then just say so and I'll go return the book I picked out for you." Dean made to head back to the center's gift store. Sam stopped him.

"I- I don't mind if you don't mind," Sam admitted bashfully. "I liked reading together a lot." Dean rolled his eyes but smiled and turned back toward the car. Sam trotted along next to him. "So what book did you get?" Dean pulled the book from the bag and handed it to Sam, putting the bag in a trash can they passed. Sam read the title. " _Space Cadet_ by Robert A. Heinlein." Sam looked up at Dean. They had reached the Impala. "I've heard about this book! It was the _Ender's Game_ before _Ender's Game_."

Dean gave him a confused look as he opened the driver's side door. " _Ender's Game_?"

Sam rolled his eyes as he slid into his seat. "That movie in space with Harrison Ford I made you go see a few years ago. The one that's not _Star Wars_?"

Dean snapped his fingers. "Right! That was a book first?"

Sam just shook his head fondly at his brother. He was so happy he could just hug his brother, but that was a bad idea for more reasons than the fact that his brother was negotiating traffic to get them home. Sam settled for hugging the book to his chest.

"Whoa, there, Sammy. Somethings an older brother just never needs to see. Want me to get you and your new girlfriend a room here in Florida? Don't worry, I won't tell the laptop you're cheating."

"Shut up, jerk."

"Make me, bitch. Shut up and read."

Sam smiled and opened to the first page. _Best present ever_.


	12. April

**I know, I know- y'all probably thought I died or gave up on this but that is far from the truth! I've been doing my best to write in my precious free time, but that has been few and far in between! I recently moved and started college so my life has just been really chaotic for the past month or two as I've attempted to get my life together and work on this story. I _will_ see it through, I swear.**

 **This is mostly just a cute filler chapter, not at all up to my usual caliber. I had most of this written but my computer decided that instead of saving it like I asked it would delete all my hard work, so imagine my surprise when I tried to finish it only to see that NOTHING had saved. So here you go, the scraps.**

 **The good news is that I've had the final chapter mostly written since the idea was conceived, so hopefully- hopefully, y'all- it won't take long to finish it. Then I have a NEW idea I want to write. Thanks for your patience, and all the usual disclaimers that I own nothing and all "facts" are fictional apply. Enjoy!**

* * *

Of the pair of them, Sam was the early bird. It was just a fact; like the sky is blue, or pie is the best food ever. Ever since they were small and still living in the Lawrence house, Dean slept late and Sam was up early. Sam didn't remember all of the mornings Mary had carried him quietly into Dean's room and gently placed the giggling baby on his big brother's chest, who then proceeded to demand the elder's attention with loud "coo"s and hapless smacking, but Dean definitely did. After the fire and the Yellow-Eyed Demon, when they were constantly moving around, Dean got used to waking up early enough to take care of Sammy. He was always exhausted and a little grouchy, but even during the mornings when it was hardest to drag himself out of bed from the pain of missing his mother and the exhaustion from staying up late waiting for a drunken father to stumble "home" in the early hours, the delighted gurgling and dimpled smile Sam gave every day at seeing his face easily dispelled the tired eyes and grief. Eventually, Sam was old enough that Dean could leave him to read or color or play quietly or watch _Thundercats_ on the old motel television set for an extra hour or two of sleep in the mornings, and Dean quickly resumed his night owl habits. Sam was of the private opinion that Dean was such an outstanding hunter because his natural talent for the job paired perfectly with the fact that he did his best work at night.

(Whenever Dean boasted that fact, Sam was quick to roll his eyes and snark back, "Booze, girls and pool don't really count as _work_ , Dean," but Sam knew Dean meant the keen eyesight and heightened awareness that came when Dean was fully awake- at night.)

The point is that the brothers were, pardon the cliché, as different as night and day.

And they reveled in it. Sam was content to leave the nighttime activities to his brother, and Dean relished his alone time roaming the night. Likewise, Sam craved the solitude of the early morning, and Dean was only too happy to let him have it. Sam used that quiet time to take a run before the sun was too hot, to read a book, do extra research, or one of his other past times he couldn't usually indulge in. By an unspoken agreement, they stayed true to their natures, each respecting the other's alone time, only a little light ribbing for the sake of brotherly love.

Dean was a night person, Sam a morning person.

Which is why it was surprising to Sam to wake up to Dean shining a bright light in his face.

Sam flinched violently. "Dude! What the _hell_?"

"Good morning, Sammy!" Dean said, entirely too loudly. His big brother had a large smile on his face. "Get up, get dressed and let's get going! I have a surprise for us."

Sam rolled over to check the clock. "Dean, it's 3:30 in the morning."

Dean paused as he exited the room. "Yeah. So?" Sam stared at his brother incredulously. Dean became defensive. "What?" Sam just shook his head.

"Never mind," he murmured, rubbing his eyes. "What are we doing again?"

Dean beamed. "Going for a surprise! Get dressed and meet me at the Impala!"

Sam groaned as his brother left the room, rolling over with the intent to go right back to sleep. Just as his eyes were drifting shut, Sam spotted the date on his alarm. _April 2nd_.

Sam was out of bed and dressed in less than two minutes.

* * *

The sun was setting when the Winchesters found themselves back on the road after spending an entire day at the Kansas State Fair. Sam was content in the passenger seat of the Impala, full of unhealthy fairground food and surprisingly good beer. As they always did in times like these (hell, all the time actually), his hazel eyes inevitably drifted to his smiling older brother. The smile on his brother's face prompted one of his own. Dean was happy, and if Dean is happy than Sam is happy, and they can all be happy together. Sure, life was falling apart for them, and the world beyond them, but one thing Sam had learned in his hard life was to take happiness when and where you can.

Today, Dean had taken his little brother to the State Fair as his monthly surprise.

Today, Dean had forced him to eat unhealthy fried foods, ranging from delicious-looking to how-the-hell-do-they-call-that-food-there-is-no-way-in-HELL-I'm-putting-that-Dean-NO.

Today, Dean had encouraged Sam to ride the Ferris wheel, his favorite ride.

Today, Dean had gotten on the Ferris wheel _with_ him, his least favorite ride.

Today, Dean and Sam competed (under aliases, of course) in a shooting competition, and won. (Dean won 1st, Sam got 2nd.)

Today, Dean and Sam had tasted good and bad beers, ate junk food, flirted with girls (Dean more than him), played games and won prizes.

Today, Dean had taken his little brother's mind off of the Mark and Dean's failing control.

Today, there had been no talk of monsters, or evil, or broken promises, or demons, or angels, or God, or death, or anything that had been their lives for the past… forever.

Today, Dean hadn't succumbed to the Mark, had ignored it's call all day.

Today, they weren't hunters, they were brothers.

"Best present ever, Dean," Sam murmured to his big brother, eyes slipping closed. Before they completely shut, Sam saw the bright smile directed his way.

* * *

 **R &R and *hopefully* I'll be done with the last and final chapter with in a month. Don't kill me.**


	13. May

**Here you go y'all. The last chapter. Sammy's birthday. I hope you like it and remember, reviews are love.**

 **Disclaimers:**

 ** _The Giver_ really was published 1993 (though I don't know the exact date) but I don't it, Sherlock, the Furious movies or Supernatural.**

* * *

A loud crash and a startled yelp of pain that was quickly cut off had Sam rocketing out of bed and rushing to find the source of the noise before he was even fully awake. He has the foresight to grab his gun from next to his bed, and makes his way quickly and quietly to his big brother's bedroom. The crash and yelp sounded like they came from farther away, but no one else was- or should be- in the bunker, and Dean had been out of commission for the past three days due to food poisoning from a shady taco truck in New Mexico and had just started keeping down liquids yesterday evening, so he shouldn't be out of bed. Sam pushed open the door of Dean's room slowly and silently; empty. Sam's heartbeat beat faster, anticipating the danger his sick, Mark-controlled brother may have gotten into. Moving faster, and only slightly less silently, Sam headed in the direction of the noise that had awoken him. Another clatter and muffled curse prompted him to walk faster in the direction of the kitchen. Sam paused just outside the door, caught his breathe, released the safety on his gun, and swung himself around the doorframe, gun up and trigger finger twitching.

What he saw surprised him.

Dean was on the floor, surrounded by the remains of what looked like omelets and pancakes, sitting among broken plates, pans and a puddle of coffee. Sam lowered the gun. "Dean?" he asked hesitantly, eyes taking in everything and assessing the situation. Dean was cradling a hand to his chest, muttering to himself as he tried to pick up the remains of two shattered plates. Sam could see the shadows and heavy bags underneath his dull green eyes, made all the darker by the pale pallor of his skin. His hands were shaking and his eyes were squinted like he had a headache, and he flinched when he heard Sam's voice.

"Hi, Sam," Dean said, his voice scratchy and hoarse. "Sorry for waking you. Go back to sleep."

Sam shook his head and put the gun on the table in favor of a towel. "Dude- what happened? Should you even be out of bed right now? Don't answer that because I know for a fact that the correct answer is no you definitely should not be up, considering you haven't had solid food in three days and just stopped throwing up with every movement. So why are you up, Dean?"

It came out much harsher than Sam meant, and he immediately regretted it when he saw the crushed look on his brother's face. Dean retreated in on himself, bringing his injured hand to his chest and tucking it in between his chest and his legs as he leaned against the cupboards. His dull green eyes were slightly teary and directed downward. "Dean…" Sam started to apologize, but Dean cut him off.

"Didn't mean to make a mess, Sammy," Dean said quietly. He didn't raise his gaze.

Sam sighed and sat next to him, shoulder to shoulder. "I know," he acknowledged. "I'm just surprised that you're up, honestly. I thought you'd be milking this a little longer, making me bring you breakfast in bed and stuff."

Dean shrugged and turned his head away. "Wanted t' make you breakfast for your birthday."

Sam frowned. "My birthday?" Sam suddenly turned to the calendar in the kitchen. "Crap! It is my birthday!"

Dean nodded, blinking fast. "Sorry. Screwed it up again."

Sam tried to comfort Dean. "No, you didn't, Dean. It's not like we had anything planned any way. You didn't ruin anything by getting sick. It's not your fault man."

Dean shook his head violently before stopping and turning green. Sam scrabbled to get the trash bin and brought it back just in time. He rubbed Dean's back as his brother retched. Finally, Dean coughed, spit and said something unintelligible. "What?" Sam asked, leaning in.

"I had plans for your birthday," Dean admitted. Sensing his little brother's look of confusion (Dean still wouldn't look at Sam), Dean explained quietly. "I wanted to make up for the past couple years, especially your last birthday, when I was AWOL as a demon. I've been a shitty brother, tricking you into saying yes to Gadreel, getting the Mark, running out on you, being angry and petty about Amelia… I just wanted to do something nice for this birthday, since… well, we see how this turned out. Can't even make frickin' _breakfast_ right!" Dean smacked his hand on the ground in frustration, forgetting it was injured. He hissed in pain and Sam snatched his hand and inspected the burn.

Trying to lighten the mood, Sam quipped, "Well, that makes two of us." Bringing up his own failed birthday breakfast attempt had the desired effect. Dean snorted weakly. Sam smiles. "Now, let me patch this up for you, okay?"

Wrong thing to say apparently. Dean slumps backwards again almost immediately.

"Worst big brother ever," he mutters to himself as Sam cleans his hand. The younger Winchester snaps his head up in shock and anger.

"No, you're not!"

The vehemence in his voice must have surprised Dean, who finally raised his eyes and blinked at his younger brother in confusion. Sam dialed back the volume of his voice, but not the conviction. "Dean, you are not the worst big brother ever. Not even close. Hell, you're not even close to being the worst brother _period_." Dean just snorted in disbelief and looked away again. Sam sighed and finished cleaning Dean's hand and moves slightly to sit beside him, trying to come up with a way to let Dean know that a botched breakfast doesn't mean he's a failure as a brother.

The Winchester brothers sit in silence for a long time.

"Do you remember the year I turned ten?" Dean blinked and nodded, unsure where this was going. Sam pressed forward. "I had just learned what Dad really did, and two weeks before my birthday, he went on a hunt a couple of counties over from where we were staying in Tennessee. It wasn't his first since I learned about hunting, but he promised to be back for my birthday." Dean snorted, clearly remembering the broken promise and Sam's resulting panic that he had died and left them orphans. Regardless, Sam reminded his brother. "He didn't call for three days, and it was May 1st, and I was convinced that he was dead or hurt and never coming back. You tried to tell me everything was going to be fine and that my birthday wasn't ruined, and Dad would come back, but I didn't listen and went to bed early and upset."

"What's the point of this, Sam?" Dean asked, voice still rough from his stomach's rebellion.

Sam ignored his brother's interjection. "When I woke up on my birthday, there was a brand-new comic book, Batman, laying on top of a new book, _The Giver_ , and you had Lucky Charms and apple juice ready in the kitchen for me. After breakfast, you told me we were going out, and when I got to the door, there were new shoes waiting for me. And it was like that all day; you gave me lots of little presents and kept me from thinking about Dad and hunting and everything wrong with our childhood." Sam looked at his brother seriously, staying quiet until Dean finally met his eyes. "That's one of my favorite memories," he confessed quietly. "Know why?" Dean shook his head. "'Cause you were there. I'm hard pressed to find a birthday you weren't there for, Dean. You made all of them good birthdays, good days in general. So this-" Sam gestured to the mess in the kitchen "-this doesn't ruin any of that."

Dean smiled shakily, looking down at the tiled floor. Sam wrapped a hand around Dean's arm and continued. "And this past year, with the little gifts? That's one of the best things anyone, even you, has ever done for me. And I know you think maybe you need to make up for the mistakes you've made, Dean, but you don't. Not to me. You hurt me with some of them, but I forgive you. I do. You've forgiven me for so much worse. And I've never done half the stuff you do for me on a regular basis, so stop making me look like the worst brother ever." Dean chuckled at that. Sam grinned. "So," Sam paused to make sure Dean looked at him. "We good?"

Dean smiled at his brother, weary eyes and pale face notwithstanding. "Yeah, Sammy. We're good."

"Good." Sam looked around. "Let's get this cleaned up, then."

Dean groaned but slowly levered himself from the ground. "Dude, this blows. I had tons of great things planned for today too! I've planning this for months!"

"Really?" Sam asked, picking up the broken plates.

"Yeah- we were going to have so much fun doing stuff today. One last hoorah, you know?" Sam looked sharply at Dean, eyes narrowed. He hadn't missed the ominous 'since' in his brother's earlier confession, and this was dangerous thinking for both of them. He opened his mouth to call out his brother, but Dean continued, not noticing Sam's look. "Like, we were going to go get lunch at this super great place down town, and catch the new Fast and Furious movie that came out last month." Dean made to sweep the food up, but quickly changed directions to retch into the sink. Sam gave a wince of sympathy and went to his brother, rubbing his back and turning on the faucet. When Dean straightened and spit a final time, Sam presented him with more water. Dean took it and muttered dejectedly, "Stupid food poisoning ruining everything."

"Why don't you just modify your plans to be inside with minimal moving?" Sam suggested.

Dean shook his head, slowly this time. "That's not fair to you. It's your birthday, and you'd just be doing lame things with me."

Sam shrugged. "I don't mind. Hanging out with you has always been my idea of a good time."

Dean glanced over at Sam skeptically. "Really?"

Sam widened his eyes earnestly. "Really."

Dean looked away, a light blush rising on his cheekbones. "Okay." Sam smiled and convinced his brother to sit down at the table. "Okay then- Birthday in the Bunker Step 1: Breakfast. Pancakes and omelets. Or cereal now, I guess," Dean amended, looking at Sam, clearly remembering who had to cook now.

"Nah uh, you can teach me how to make them," Sam protested. Dean raised an eyebrow but acquiesced. "Alright then, geek boy, if you're so smart. Here's what you do."

Under Dean's careful and teasing direction, Sam made pancakes and omelets. ("For one, Sammy. Just give me some juice this morning.") Sam laughed along with his brother as they told stories and ate in the kitchen. Dean suggested relocating to Sam's room for a movie or show and Sam happily agreed, knowing Dean would let him choose. Dean, feeling slightly better, helped Sam make some sandwiches for when they got hungry (nothing special, just peanut butter and banana) and they spent the next six hours on Sam's bed watching Sherlock. (Dean protests but Sam knows he enjoys the show, too; Dean leans over and whispers theories to Sam from time to time.)

They finally leave Sam's room around five that night to make a quick dinner, which they then eat on the couch, laughing and relaxing. Dean had managed to eat the sandwiches without throwing up, so Sam let him eat some of the loaded baked potato Dean had taught him to make. Sam took their plates to the kitchen, but left them soaking in the sink, anxious to get back to his brother in the living room area. He had just returned when Dean's voice stopped him. "Before you sit down, Sammy, can you go to my room and get the wrapped box under my bed and bring it back?"

Curiosity welled up in Sam and he practically ran to his brother's room to do as he asked. When he returned, Dean patted the seat next to him on the couch. When Sam is sitting next to him, Dean smiles at his eager look and tilts his head in silent permission to open the present.

Sam rips off the paper to see a plain brown box. Carefully opening the box, Sam looks inside and gasps.

Inside of the box are pictures; pictures of him and Amelia and Riot, of him and Jess and old Stanford friends, and, at the very end and most precious, pictures from Before- of a life that was short and fleeting and a bright, treasured secret in his brother's heart and memory.

Sam's eyes widened as he looked over the pictures of his old lives. "What- How-" he chokes over the questions burning through his heart and wrestling to be asked.

"I made some calls," Dean admitted, smiling. "Remember, this is a year in the making. I called Amelia and had her email the pictures to Charlie who got them to me. The Stanford pictures were harder. I spent 4 months trying to get a hold of your friend Rebecca- from St. Louis? She lives in Seattle now, by the way- and had her get a hold of anyone who had pictures of you and Jess from Stanford and then do the same."

Sam's fingers traced the outline of Jess's smiling face. With a shaky smile, he blinked tears out of his eyes as Dean continued. "Some of those pictures looked pretty interesting. I thought, you know, we never really talked about Jess or Stanford, but if you're willing to share, I'm willing to listen." Sam looked at his brother, shocked. "It's been 11 years since I dragged you away from Stanford and her and- REGARDLESS OF WHETHER IT'S MY FAULT OR NOT," Dean raised his voice to crush down Sam's protests. "I'm just saying that I've dragged you through heaven, hell and high water since then and, well, you've given up a lot for me since then. A lot of GOOD things. And I wanted to say... Thanks." Dean looked awkward, fingering a hole in his jeans as he waited for Sam's answer.

The silence stretched on.

Finally, Sam said softly, "What about the Lawrence pictures?" Dean cleared his throat. "Do you remember working the case back in Lawrence with the family that moved into our old house?"

Sam thought hard. "The one I had a vision about?" Dean nodded. "Yeah. Wait- are these- are these those pictures she found in the basement?!" At Dean's nod, Sam continued. "I thought we lost them."

Dean averted his eyes. "No," he said quietly. "I hid them in the trunk of the Impala. I knew you would want to talk about them, know about the stories, know about HER, but I just wasn't ready after going back there. So I hid them and I swear, Sam, I was going to pull them out and talk to you but I just... forgot, after everything. I found them a few years ago, when I was with Lisa, then made sure I knew where it was so when I found you again, I could show them to you." Dean met Sam's wet eyes with determination. "That's your real present today, Sam. Me telling you all the stories. It wasn't fair for me to keep Mom to myself, and I know it hurt you. But I'd like to share her with you, if you want. What I remember, at least."

Sam coughed to clear his throat of the sudden thickness that resided there, glancing between the pictures in his hands and his wonderful, awesome big brother, who looked uncertain and uncomfortable, but willing. And if that hadn't been what he'd always wanted since he knew what a mother was and why he didn't have one, just ready for him to take. "If, if you don't mind," Sam said, almost shyly. "Can you?" Dean smiled at his precious little brother and simply patted the seat next to him on the couch. Eagerly- feeling all of 5 years old and as if his cool older brother had just agreed to read him a story- Sam sat on the couch next to his brother, pulling his legs up underneath his body, offering up the pictures.

Dean said, "How about you choose a picture to start with?" The elder Winchester smirked at the serious look on the younger man's face as he studied each photograph intensely. Sam looked over each picture critically, determined to find the one that looked as if it came with the best story. There were about 30 pictures, and 25 pictures in, he found it. The perfect picture. The old photograph was of his brother, blond and young, covered in mud, with tear tracks on his cheeks and clutching the very pregnant curve of his smiling mother's stomach. Sam smiled brightly and held it out for his brother to see. Dean took it and laughed. "This is a good choice, Sammy. I remember this one." The pair shifted on the couch to become comfortable. Somehow, they ended up with Dean laying reclined along the couch's length, back against the arm, with Sam nestled along his side in between the cushions and Dean with his head on big brother's collarbone. It was a position they had often taken when they were younger and Dean was reading to little Sammy. It was less comfortable now, but Sam seemed happy and Dean was content just to let it be.

"Alright," he started slowly. "This was the day of your baby shower. It was late March, so Mom was big with you- maybe 6 or 7 months, I forget which-"

"7 months."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Okay, geek boy, 7 months. Anyway, Mom was 7 months pregnant with little baby Sammy and one of her friends decided to throw her a baby shower. Mom made this big deal out of it; she spent days, Sam, literal DAYS, teaching me the proper way to behave in front of her friends. She stressed it, over and over again, that this was an important day for Mommy and baby Sammy so I must do no wrong that day. It was my very important, big brother duty to be a good boy and not to let my baby brother down."

"They were telling you that before you carried me out of the house?" Sam asked, curiously.

Dean nodded. "Oh yeah, from the second Mom and Dad sat me down and explained what a baby brother was, the way they could get me to do anything was by bribing me with you. 'Clean your room before you can talk to baby Sammy', 'Eat your veggies or you won't be able to hold Sammy'- shut up, Sam, I eat veggies," Dean lightly slapped the back of his brother's head at his snort of laughter. Sam stifled his giggles and brought his hand up to rest on his brother's chest, where the amulet lay once again. He gripped it in his fist and his brother continued. "Anyway, the day of said baby shower, Mom got me up early, made a special breakfast, a bath and put me in my nicest clothes." Dean pointed at himself in the picture, and Sam could see the muddy remains of a white button-down shirt and khakis. "But there was still an hour until people would start coming and she had to get ready herself. And when I asked if I could play outside while waiting, she said no. Because, you see, it was the first sunny day in about a week and while I just wanted to go outside for the first time in a week, all Mom could see was the pure expanses of mud that a week of rain had left behind." Sam laughed loudly at that. "Oh, sure, laugh it up Sammy," Dean said, wryly. "It was the end of the world."

Sam's laughter doubled at the mental picture of 4-year-old Dean, blond hair slicked back and clothes tidy, throwing a tantrum. "So what'd you do?"

"I did what any self-respecting 4 year-olds would do," Dean said smugly. "I cried and screamed and got put in time-out on the couch. AND THEN," Dean raised his voice to be heard over Sam's delighted laughter, "And then when Mom's friends began arriving in bulk, I snuck out the back door." Dean let Sam's guffaws die out before he carried on with his story telling. "I think I was out there an hour or two playing in the mud before Mom figured out where I was. Apparently, she thought I'd run away or gotten lost or something because she called Dad to come help look for me, and he's the one who found me making mud pies in the back corner of the yard." Sam eyes were trained on his brother's face, taking in the soft, wistful look in Dean's normally hard green eyes. "Mom was crying. She sent all her friends home after they found me, and after she recovered from her panic, man, was she PISSED. She sat me down on the kitchen counter with Dad in the doorway, and began scrubbing at my clothes, shoes and face, yelling about how I had scared her, disobeyed her and embarrassed her in front of her friends. Then she abandoned the rag and laid into me how she was so disappointed in how I acted today, how I had treated my baby brother." Sam's fist tightened unconsciously on the amulet. The smile had disappeared from his face as he focused all of his attention on this rare display of emotion from his brother. "And I had never seen Mom so angry before. And when she just started looking at me with this disappointed look in her eyes, telling me how I let her and my baby brother down, I just lost it. I started crying and hugging Mom, apologizing over and over. And when she caved and forgave me- cause I'm just that cute and adorable- I asked if I could apologize to baby Sammy. I think that's when Dad took this picture, when I was sobbing my cute, little heart out in apology to you." The pair fell silent at the close of the story. Sam pressed himself closer to his brother. Dean absent-mindedly stroked Sam's hair as he gazed at the picture, lost in thought. "I used to do that a lot," Dean mused, as if just realizing it. "Mom would fall asleep on the couch or something, and I'd come right up to her stomach and just tell you anything I was thinking about that day. I would do that for hours..." Dean trailed off.

Sam smiled as a warm flush of pleasure coursed through him at this blatant display of his big brother's adoration for him. "I love you, too, Dean. Thanks."

"Shut up, bitch." Dean pushed Sam's hair into his face.

"Jerk." Sam shook out his hair. They were quiet for a while, looking at the picture of their mother, lost in their own thoughts. "Dean?" Sam asked finally.

"Yeah, little brother?" came the soft voice above him.

There was so much Sam wanted to say. He wanted to reassure Dean that everything would be fine, they could fix the Mark and save his soul. He wanted to scream at the world that they could not have his brother, dead or a demon. He wanted to curl up like he was three and scared of thunder and sob into his big brother's strong shoulder that he was scared. He wanted to tell Dean how much he loved and appreciated him- for real, not as a teasing joke. But he didn't say any of those things. He just said, "Best present ever, Dean. Thanks."

Sam peered up and caught Dean's affectionate smile. "You're welcome, Sammy."

Sam coughed and declared, "Okay. Next one." He shuffled through the pictures. "Dean... What are you wearing?"

Dean peered at the photograph. "Dude, I don't even know."

* * *

 **So... what did you guys think? R &R and I'm working on another SPN fic rn, so check out that when it's up. It will be up in one go, it's a one shot. But in the mean time, send a review my way! Love y'all!**


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